


To See the Wood from the Trees

by Katef



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 15:02:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 37,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4105210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katef/pseuds/Katef
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Troubled Detective Jim Ellison takes a fishing trip in an effort to calm his unruly senses, but he catches much more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To See the Wood from the Trees

**Author's Note:**

> An alternative meeting between a much younger Jim and Blair in a very different environment. Set around 1989-90

**To See the Wood from the Trees _by Katef               April 2015_**

**Part 1:  An Unexpected Pleasure:**

**Tyler’s General Store, Pine Valley Creek, WA:**

“Sandburg!  Get your skinny ass over here and see to this customer!”

The rough-hewn giant at the counter was facing towards the back of the store, so didn’t see the pained wince his full-throated roar elicited in the man standing behind him.  Even if he did, it was unlikely that an apology would be forthcoming.  More like a barely-concealed smirk if anything if his customer was any judge of character, and as a detective in Cascade PD’s Major Crimes Unit, Jim Ellison was certainly proficient in that department.  However, there was little point in complaining, especially as it was unlikely he’d ever be using the store again.  It was simply the most convenient stopping place on his way to the nearby campsite that was his destination, where he was looking forward to spending a few days’ peace and quiet away from the sights, sounds and smells of the city where he served.

As the beefy, bearded man turned back to Jim, he grinned nastily as he did actually offer an apology of sorts, but it wasn’t on account of his own behaviour.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, sir.  It’s not easy to get any help around here, so I have to put up with what I can get, and it ain’t much, I can tell ya.  Got a kid in back who’ll be able to get you sorted once he gets his useless ass into gear.  Pathetic little faggot that he is,” he added almost in an undertone, but easily heard by Jim.

Jim didn’t bother to respond, but simply offered a small, understanding grin before his attention was abruptly captured by the appearance of the ‘pathetic little faggot’.  And he couldn’t have been more surprised.  The young man who emerged from the store room side-stepped nervously around his big employer, almost as if expecting a cuff or rebuke, which he was probably entitled to if the storekeeper’s scowl was anything to go by.  However, once out of range, he turned his attention to Jim, and the smile he offered was little short of stunning.

“How can I help you, sir?  Do you have a list you need filling?”  The voice was rich in tone and deeper than Jim would have expected, and he found himself relaxing infinitesimally as he took a moment to study the figure before him.  The kid looked to be no more than eighteen to twenty years old, if that, and was fairly short, at least in comparison to both the storekeeper’s and to Jim’s six-foot plus physiques.  Probably around five feet six or seven, the slender frame was in prefect proportion, and if somewhat thin at the moment, Jim could imagine him maturing into a sturdy and compact man.  His long, dark auburn curls were pulled back into a neat ponytail at his nape, and two hoops adorned his pierced left earlobe.  But his face was what really captured the attention.  Huge blue eyes surrounded by obscenely long lashes gazed inquisitively at Jim from beneath a smooth, wide brow.  The boy’s cheekbones were high and well-defined, the nose neat and straight, and the chin firm.  And he possessed one of the most lush-lipped and kissable mouths Jim had ever seen on male or female.  In short, he was beautiful in a purely masculine way, and Jim had to stomp down hard on a libido re-awakening after far too long dormant.

_Nice one, Ellison.  Let’s just scare the kid silly while we’re at it shall we?  Get your act together and stop staring like a love-struck schoolgirl.  Or a horny old man.  This is neither the time nor the place to get your rocks off._ Shaking himself out of his brief reverie, Jim grinned somewhat abashedly at the now slightly worried-looking youngster, and held out a piece of paper as he said, “Sorry about that.  I was just thinking about what else I might need.  Here’s what I could do with right now, so if you can get this together for me I’d be grateful.”

Smiling cheerfully, the young man took the list and glanced at it before answering, “No problem, man.  I think we’ve probably got most things here, if not all.  As this is that last general store for miles, Benny keeps it well-stocked with everything he can think of.  This shouldn’t take long, but do you want to get a coffee while I’m loading it?  We have a pot in the back if you’d like?”

As the big storekeeper - presumably the ‘Benny’ the kid had mentioned - had moved off to busy himself with some business or other in the stockroom, Jim was happy to take the kid up on the offer.

“Sure.  That’d be good.  Thanks.  Shall I help myself?” and at the youngster’s quick nod, he moved over to the pot and poured himself a cup of surprisingly good, fresh coffee.  Taking an appreciative sip, he glanced over to where the young assistant was quickly and efficiently gathering together Jim’s requirements.  As he watched, he contemplated his own positive reactions to the other man’s presence, a tiny frown settling between his brows as he catalogued his own physical status which already felt way better than when he had first entered the store.  Now he just had to figure out what or who was having such a beneficial influence on him, and see if he could reproduce it somehow at will.

_And if it’s that young assistant, I might just be forced to kidnap him and keep him,_ Jim thought, a wry grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he thought back over the preceding weeks.

\------------------------------------

**A few days previously: Captain Simon Banks’ office, Cascade PD MCU:**

With a groan of satisfaction, Jim stretched out his long legs as he settled himself into the comfortable chair opposite his captain’s desk, offering the tall dark-skinned man a rueful grin as he said, “Thanks, Simon.  I shouldn’t be as stiff and sore as this after such a simple chase and capture, but for some reason I feel like I’ve been hit by a Mack truck.”

In response, the big man pursed his lips, contemplating his detective and friend for a long moment before offering his opinion.

“You know, Jim, this seems to be all part and parcel of whatever’s been going on with you recently.  I’m seriously worried about you, my friend, and not just because your problems are beginning to impinge on your work.  I just can’t understand why none of the doctors and specialists you’ve seen can come up with any real answers.  But all your physicals suggest there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Yeah, tell me about it, Simon.  I nearly punched the last one out when he suggested I was trying for dismissal on medical grounds.  Said he thought everything was psychosomatic or something.  Shit!  As if!  I almost wish that was the case, because then at least I could perhaps get some appropriate therapy. 

“Then again, at this rate, I could end up in a padded cell anyway,” and his face twisted briefly in something akin to despair.

“So how are the senses doing at the moment?  You look like you’ve got the headache from hell, and by the way you’re wrinkling your nose, I’m guessing your sense of smell is going screwy also, am I right?”

“Yeah, you are, Simon.  I’m trying to concentrate on my sense of touch because of the bumps and bruises I got earlier – which shouldn’t normally be troubling me at all – but I can’t seem to turn down smell and hearing.  It’s just getting crazy, sir.  Perhaps the docs are right, and it is all in my mind.”

“Even if that was the case, Jim, it seems odd that everything started with you after that solitary stakeout a few weeks ago.  You were fine up until then, weren’t you?  Do you think there was something there that affected you?  Something you’re allergic to and didn’t know it?”

“No, I don’t think so, Simon.  I’m sure if that was the case the medics would have pinpointed it by now, and I doubt there’s anything like an allergen that could enhance all my senses at the same time.  I just don’t know what to do, Simon.  I can’t control the sensory spikes, and I’m really worried about the losing time thing.  If I go off into one of those weird fugue states when I’m in the middle of a fire-fight or something, I could get someone killed.  And I’d never forgive myself if that happened.”

Jim stared despondently at the hands clenched on his lap for a moment, trying unsuccessfully to find a positive spin on the whole miserable situation.  He loved his job – needed it even – but not at the expense of putting other lives in danger.  But he was despairing of finding a cure for an ailment that very few people even believed he actually had.  He was grateful that Simon had been as sympathetic and supportive as he had been up until now, but the man had a department to run, and Jim was well aware that his personal problems couldn’t be allowed to affect the overall welfare of Major Crimes and its personnel and performance.  He wasn’t surprised therefore to hear what Simon said next.

“Look, Jim.  I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but the other guys out there are already muttering about that ‘blanking out’ stuff.  They’re beginning to think you’re losing it, and you’ve got to admit that you’re even more surly around them now than you were before this sense business kicked in.  You’ve got a good bit of leave due, so why don’t you take a few days – do something relaxing like camping or fishing – and see if it helps.  When you get back, come and see me, and we’ll take it from there, OK?”

And there really wasn’t much Jim could say in rebuttal, so he simply nodded in sombre resignation and left the office, already planning on the best place in which to spend his enforced R and R.

\------------------------------------------

Abruptly returning to the present, Jim shook himself slightly and looked over at the young shop assistant, who was regarding his customer expectantly, eyebrow cocked inquisitively as he stood beside a couple of large cardboard boxes. 

“Um, all done, sir.  We had everything you wanted, so would you like me to go ahead and pack them in your truck seeing as I’ve already rung them up on the till?”

“Yeah, sure, Chief.  If it’s not too much, I’ll settle up with cash, OK?  Then I’ll be on my way.”

Smiling affably, the young man handed him the invoice.  “There you go, sir.  Sixty nine dollars and seventy cents.”

However, as Jim took the slip, their hands touched briefly, and both men were surprised at the slight but definite buzz they both experienced on contact.  Although through long practice Jim was able to maintain his normal cool façade, the other man’s more open and animated face couldn’t disguise his reaction as his eyebrows shot up, and the blue eyes widened briefly as his gaze sought Jim’s.

Nevertheless, as soon as Jim’s lack of reaction registered with the younger man, he controlled his own expression with a little more effort, and plastered his friendly smile back on his face.

“Um, OK then.  Say, are you going to the campsite at the head of the creek?  Or the one higher up near the upper trailhead?  If you want peace and quiet and rather more challenging hiking you should go to the higher one.  Not that there’s that many people at the other one yet, ‘cause it’s still early in the season.  But the fishing’s better higher up also in the nearby tributary and the lake it feeds into….”

Suddenly the young man seemed to realise he was chattering on overmuch, and blushed slightly as he took Jim’s money, plainly expecting some sort of rebuke or amusement at his expense.  Offering Jim a shy, self-deprecating grin, he opened the cash register and pulled out a handful of small change.

“There you go, sir.  I’ll just take this out for you…” and he picked up the nearest box. 

If he had but known it, Jim was actually charmed by his friendliness, and surprised himself by the fact that he felt no inclination to belittle the younger man or shut him down.  In fact, Jim found the velvety tones so soothing that he would quite happily have listened for a lot longer, even if he wasn’t particularly interested in the content.

“Thanks, Chief,” he answered, picking up the other box.  “My truck’s out front.  Can’t miss it, seeing as it’s probably the oldest one in town,” and he chuckled ruefully even though he was actually proud of his beloved ‘Sweetheart’.

Spotting the blue and white Ford F150, the younger man looked over at him, grinning widely.  “Man, she’s a classic!  And I wouldn’t be too sure about her being the oldest vehicle in this town!  What is she, 1970?”

And Jim couldn’t help but respond to the kid’s genuine interest as he replied, “Close enough, Chief.  She’s 1969.”

“Oh, man!  Same year as me!  No wonder I like her so much!” and the younger man grinned even more as he dropped his box carefully into the truck bed.

And Jim’s response came easily to his lips as he said, “Obviously a good year, then, Chief!  So.  You’re twenty, then.  You working your way through college?”

Abruptly, the humour fled from the attractive face, and the young man shut down.  “Something like that, I guess.  Well, have a good vacation, sir,” and he turned and hurried back inside, head down and shoulders slumped as he shut the door behind him.

Frowning, Jim stared at the retreating back, curiosity piqued by the change in the other’s demeanour.  For some reason, he wanted to get to the bottom of the kid’s evident distress, even offer his support.  And where did that notion come from?  Certainly as a dedicated police officer he felt the need to protect and serve, but he had never before experienced such a compulsion towards a specific individual.  And one he had only just met at that.  Hell, he didn’t even know the kid’s full name.  Just ‘Sandburg’, if he remembered correctly from when the storekeeper summoned him.  Turning back to the truck to open the driver’s door, he decided that he wouldn’t force his attention on the other man right now. 

But he might just find a reason to visit the store again very soon.

\------------------------------------

Blair walked quickly back to the storeroom, his manner somewhat distracted although he automatically gave his boss a wide berth, not wanting to interact with or antagonise the ill-tempered man any more than he could help.  He had really enjoyed the few minutes’ conversation with the handsome customer, which had been enough to allow his normally friendly and outgoing personality to emerge for a few precious moments.  On the other hand, it had also brought home to him how different were his circumstances now; and the weight of familiar depression settled once more on his bowed shoulders.  On autopilot, he began to stack the storeroom shelves; ready for the weekly stock-take he knew would also fall to him to do since Benny insisted on getting his money’s worth of labour out of Blair.  At that thought, Blair grinned ruefully as he considered just how little he actually got paid, but he supposed that he should be grateful for small mercies, as it was unlikely that he could find any other work in this town.  Art Baxter would see to that.

Deliberately turning his thoughts back to more cheerful subjects, he pictured the tall, buff man who had just visited the store.  As a convenient stopping point for those making use of the area’s camping and fishing facilities, once the weather started to improve the trickle of such customers grew exponentially, but during the winter months business was slow with only the locals patronising the store, and there weren’t many of those.  Pine Valley Creek was a small community, originally a logging camp and busy timber working settlement, and although there was still some timber production going on, it was on a much smaller scale.  Thanks to pressure from environmental activists – with whom Blair heartily if tacitly agreed – timber was now sourced from renewable woodlands rather than the wholesale destruction of old growth trees, so much of the old pioneering ‘logging spirit’ had now gone.  And good riddance, as far as Blair was concerned.  So now the shrinking community utilised the remaining protected forests and rivers to attract vacationers, and benefitted from the income those activities engendered.

Blair smiled softly as he wondered how the big man was getting on.  He had been immediately attracted to the handsome stranger, who, even in comfortable, outdoors-man type casual clothing screamed either a military or perhaps police background, his upright yet graceful stance and movements suggesting a fit and active body.  The thought of which body Blair freely admitted had sent a frisson of lust shivering through him for the first time in what seemed like an age.   And what about that electric tingle he had felt when they touched?  But that must have been his own over-active imagination at work for sure, because the other man hadn’t registered it at all, more’s the pity.  Although personally comfortable with his bisexuality, he kept it very much under cover in this town, knowing that it wasn’t something you admitted to unless you wanted to bring down the wrath of these ultra-conservative citizens on your head.  Hell, even on Rainier’s campus it wasn’t something to openly advertise, but at least there you were likely to meet kindred souls and a good deal more general acceptance in many of the circles in which Blair had been accustomed to move.

But the goddess only knew when or even if he would actually enjoy the heady pleasures of academia again.

As a child, Blair had lived an itinerant lifestyle, following in the footsteps of his beautiful globe-trotting, hippy single Mom Naomi.  For much of the time it had been an exciting journey, allowing Blair to experience and soak up languages and cultures to a far greater extent than his peers could ever imagine.  It had undoubtedly sparked his interest in anthropology such that he had, at the tender age of sixteen, persuaded his reluctant parent that he wanted to settle in Cascade and apply for early admission to Rainier University, there to study under his hero, the renowned anthropologist Dr Eli Stoddard.  Although somewhat uncomfortable with the situation, Naomi had capitulated, and once Blair had been accepted with open arms, had detached with love and gone her own way, leaving her young son to his own devices.

Although not particularly popular with his peers, being for the most part much more intelligent and a good deal younger than the norm, he had delighted his teachers with his precocious intellect and prodigious output to the extent that by age eighteen he already had his Bachelor’s under his belt, and by his twentieth birthday he had successfully defended his Master’s thesis on Tribal Sentinels.

And then everything had gone pear-shaped and his academic life was thrown into complete disarray.

Several months prior to being awarded his Master’s degree, Blair had received a message from Naomi to the effect that she was now married to Art Baxter, of Pine Valley Creek.  Blair had been stunned, to say the least, having witnessed the progression of temporary dalliances in which his Mom had indulged throughout his life, always ending in her ‘detaching with love’ when her wanderlust beckoned.  And the more he found out about Art, the more unlikely it seemed that his flighty and uninhibited parent would allow herself to be wooed and contained by one such as he.

As a born activist, Naomi had always been one to protest against controversial political and environmental issues, one of which was the destruction of the rainforests and the indiscriminate felling of old growth trees in the United States as well as world-wide.   From what she had told Blair when he called her to offer his congratulations, she had travelled to Pine Valley Creek to confront the Baxter family, whose forebears had been founders of the logging community and still maintained their position as the foremost family in the present township through judicious and ruthless exploitation of whatever business enterprises they entered into after the demise of the original logging boom.

However, Art had determined to try to overturn the decision to protect the old growth trees on his own land even though he knew there was little chance of success, and his outspoken views had attracted protestors, including Naomi. And according to his mother, once he had shelved his proposition regarding the trees, they had fallen deeply in love, and he had persuaded her to marry him after a whirlwind courtship. 

So Blair now had a stepfather, and a stepbrother also, in the form of Marcus, Art’s son by a previous marriage.

Still reeling from shock, Blair had travelled up to Pine Valley Creek to meet his new family, and had been mightily disturbed to discover that he really, _really_ didn’t like them at all.

Normally an easy-going and open-minded character, Blair took an instant dislike to the arrogant and spoiled Marcus, who looked down his nose at the scruffy student that was now his stepbrother.  And as for Art, although he appeared as smooth, urbane and polite, Blair sensed an undercurrent of ruthlessness and even cruelty, which he was amazed to discover had seemed to have completely bypassed his normally perceptive Mom.  However, in the face of Naomi’s overt happiness and rather touching delight in the novelty of her role as the township’s ‘First Lady’, Blair had had no choice but to accept the situation, although he made himself scarce as soon as he reasonably could and returned to Rainier to immerse himself once more in his studies.

And then the day after he had defended his Master’s thesis, the bombshell had fallen which had changed his and Naomi’s lives forever.

Impatiently knuckling away the tears that threatened to fall as he recalled that awful day, Blair tried unsuccessfully to concentrate purely on the mundane task of stacking shelves while his rebellious thought processes refused to be diverted from their dismal track.

Blair had been in one of the student bars on campus, celebrating his achievement with a group of friends and fellow students when he had received a call on his pager.  Recognising the number as that of his new stepfather, he reluctantly called back, his gut instinct warning him that something was very wrong.  And indeed that turned out to be the case.  Sounding genuinely shocked and sympathetic, Art Baxter had informed him that Naomi and Marcus had been involved in a road accident while she had been driving Marcus to a business meeting in town that morning. Although Marcus had escaped with no more than bruises, Naomi was in a critical condition and Blair should come at once if he wanted to see her.  And to make matters worse, the other driver, a local man, had been killed outright.

Dropping everything, Blair had immediately rushed to his mother’s bedside where he was told that even if she survived, she would very likely suffer from permanent brain damage.

Totally devastated, Blair had been in no condition to think things through rationally when he had been bombarded with even more bad news.  He was at his lowest ebb later that night when Art had come to him, face wearing a mask of what Blair now realised was _faux_ sympathy, to inform him that the local Sherriff had dropped by with more information about the accident. According to Sheriff Hales, Naomi had been DUI, so if she recovered enough to stand trial, she would undoubtedly be accused of manslaughter or culpable homicide at the very least.

\-------------------------------

**Four months previously, Baxter Mansion:  Art Baxter’s den:**

Patting the young man’s shoulder solicitously, Art steered a silent and shocked Blair over to a comfortable overstuffed easy chair before pouring him a stiff shot of expensive single malt whisky – not that Blair would have recognised or appreciated the expensive liquor in his current state of mind.  As mournful blue eyes, shiny with unshed tears met his, Art almost felt genuinely sorry for his stepson, but he was, and never had been, a man to be swayed by unnecessary emotions.  Unless they involved his real family, that was, and that meant his true son, Marcus.

And for him Art was prepared to go to great lengths to protect and secure Marcus’ health and reputation, even to the extent of manipulating this little hippy nobody whose only claim to the Baxter family name and fortune was through his mother.

It was true that Art had been genuinely impressed by Naomi, besotted by her beauty and vivacity to an unprecedented degree, and he could admit that he had loved her inasmuch as he was capable of loving anyone, but now she had become something of a liability he was duty-bound to deal with.

Death would have been preferable, but on the other hand, as long as she remained either unconscious or brain-damaged, and Art could control her son, his own Marcus would stay safe and Naomi would continue to be a useful scapegoat.

No one would ever know that it was Marcus behind the wheel of that car yesterday, drunk enough to hit old man Onslow head-on while Naomi tried unsuccessfully to reason with him.  It was a good thing that Sheriff Hales owed Art big-time, so he could be relied upon to do and say what he was told.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Blair.  Although it’s been mere months since our marriage, I know how dreadful I feel about poor Naomi, so what it must be like for you, I simply cannot imagine.  I need you to understand that I love your mother dearly, and I shall do everything in my power to care for her once she is released from hospital.

“Because that is what we have to believe, son.  That she will recover enough for that at least.

“Marcus is so cut up about it also.  He told me how he felt responsible for letting Naomi drive once he realised that she had been drinking.  He said it simply never occurred to him that she would have been in that condition at that time of day, but he didn’t know until they were on their way to town, and he could see how erratic her driving was.  And then it was too late.  Fred Onslow didn’t have a chance, poor man.  How his wife and family must feel, I can’t imagine.”  He paused to see what effect his words were having on Blair, unsurprised at the initial disbelief and scepticism that flashed across the mobile features.

“I don’t understand, Art.  Naomi did like a glass of wine, for sure, but she would never have been that drunk at that time of day.  And she definitely wouldn’t have gotten behind a wheel.  She may have come over as ditzy and irresponsible to people who didn’t know her, but she cared - _cares_ \- deeply for others.  She wouldn’t endanger anyone knowingly.”  Blair spoke with conviction even as he saw the expression of sympathetic denial settle on his stepfather’s craggily handsome face.

“I’m sorry it’s so hard for you to believe, son, but just how much of your mother have you seen over recent years?  I regret to say that this drinking problem has been with her for some time.  She even admitted it openly after I discovered it for myself just weeks after our marriage.  Not that I let it change my feelings for her.  As far as I was concerned, it was just part and parcel of the woman I loved.  And as long as it didn’t impinge on anyone outside of the family, there was no problem.

“But now it has affected one of our neighbours, and we must all share in the burden for that.

“With that in mind, this is what I propose.  I shall offer a substantial financial settlement to the Onslows, although I realise that it can never make up for the loss of their dear husband and father.  But I want to ensure that they never bring charges against our beloved Naomi, should she ever recover enough to face them.  I would do anything to spare her that anguish and indignity.”  _And to protect the Baxter reputation,_ he added privately.

“And would I be correct in thinking that you would want to stay nearby while you mother recovers, Blair?  Because if so, I should be happy to let you stay here.  There are some spare rooms in what used to be the servant’s quarters in my father’s heyday, and I’m sure I can find you some sort of job in town to keep you busy, even if it’s something mundane and manual.  I’m sure you wouldn’t mind putting your schoolwork on hold until Naomi is well, would you?” and he raised a quizzical eyebrow as he gauged Blair’s reaction to his proposals.

And really, what could Blair do but to accept them?  He knew he should be grateful to Art for shouldering so much of the responsibility for the consequences of Naomi’s accident, especially in terms of financial support, and he certainly wouldn’t consider leaving his Mom high and dry.  And so what if his academic dreams and his life were disrupted?  The debt he owed to Naomi was far greater than his disappointment, so there was really no choice.  In his shocked and bewildered state of mind he had swallowed Art’s lies and insinuations hook, line and sinker, and thereafter his life at Rainier was as good as over.

\--------------------------------------------

And so here he was, four months down the line and counting, stacking shelves and working his butt off for Benny Tyler.  Life such as it was had fallen into a routine over the weeks and Blair was pretty much resigned to it remaining unchanged for the foreseeable future.  Two months ago Naomi had been released from hospital to return home, awake but not really aware.  As Marcus rather snidely put it, uncaring as to whether Blair could hear him or not, ‘lights on but nobody home’, and she needed constant attention from the two professional carers who shared the burden of looking after her.  Since Blair felt the need to contribute to his Mom’s welfare, the greater portion of his paltry wages from working at Tyler’s store went towards the carers’ salaries, the remainder of which Art picked up without demur.  It was, after all, a state of affairs with which Baxter could feel relatively comfortable, just as long as there was never any significant improvement in Naomi’s mental health and more particularly, her memory.

Because if that ever came to pass, he was determined to take whatever action was necessary to ensure that Marcus remained free and above suspicion.

As for Blair, he had taken an open-ended sabbatical from Rainier, departing sorrowfully but resignedly with the expressions of sympathy and good wishes from teaching staff and friends alike ringing in his ears.  He had moved his meagre possessions into one of the shabby empty rooms in the mostly disused staff wing of the Baxter mansion, and had duly started working for Benny Tyler, Art Baxter’s cousin.  He realised quickly that he had no choice in the matter, as Art made it clear that no one else in the community would employ him without Baxter’s approval and personal recommendation, such was the extent of the family’s continuing influence and presence in the town.  Benny treated him like a lackey with impunity knowing Art’s real opinion of Blair and having been readily convinced of the necessity of keeping the young man cowed and controllable such that whenever his feisty, independent nature and stubborn streak was tempted to emerge, the very mention of Naomi’s vulnerability quickly crushed it again.

With a sigh, Blair pushed the last box into place and glanced up at the store’s clock, surprised to see that it was 6.30 already and time to close up for the evening.  Almost immediately, Benny appeared in the stockroom doorway, arms akimbo and his customary glower in place.

“Hurry up, Sandburg!  Some of us have homes to go to, so get out here and grab your coat or I’ll shut you in for the night.  No skin off my nose if you have to camp down in here.”

Knowing that the big man wasn’t joking, Blair jumped down off the stepladder with alacrity, scooting past his boss with a downcast gaze.

“OK.  Night, Benny.  See you tomorrow…” he muttered, and hastily pulling on his thrift-store coat, he hurried out of the front door, looking to left and right as he paused on the boardwalk.

As expected, within a few minutes his stepbrother pulled up alongside him in his new Lexus.  On Art’s dictum this was now part of the normal daily routine that Marcus pick Blair up on the way home from his own sinecure of a job in the small town’s Chamber of Commerce.  What Marcus actually did there was a mystery to Blair, who, from his own perspicacious observations had quickly ascertained that the other young man was basically an idle, arrogant opportunist, but Blair didn’t have the energy or desire to learn more about his stepbrother.  Just as he no longer had the energy to respond to the other man’s constant sneering and condescension. 

He still had the use of his beloved, if beat-up, Corvair, but the car was presently stored in one of Baxter’s more run-down outbuildings and Blair had had little time or opportunity of late to take her out for a run.

As Marcus pulled away, Blair once more resigned himself to enduring a litany of verbal abuse and attempted Blair-baiting, and once again quietly sought the calm centre of himself within which he could seek solace and tune out the irritating chatter surrounding him.  He knew from experience that Marcus would eventually shut up when he realised that his efforts were being wasted, but inevitably he would manage to score a few palpable hits before Blair managed to tune him out completely.

Not that Blair would ever give him the satisfaction of witnessing the hurt that his cruel words caused.

\----------------------------------------

**Pine Valley Creek High Camp, same evening:**

Sitting beside his camp fire, Jim stretched his legs out and sighed in contentment, thoroughly enjoying the peace and relative quiet of his chosen camping spot.  The upper site was as people-free as the young store clerk said it would be, and the fishing was indeed good if the hour or so he had spent this afternoon was anything to go by.  Within minutes he had caught two good-sized trout and had prepared them and cooked them up for his dinner, more than satisfied with the fresh and tasty meal which for once he had had no problems in consuming every last mouthful.  Although all his senses were somewhat heightened even here, for some reason he was having much more success in controlling them, such that he could actually enjoy his sensory acuity rather than suffer from it.  It was a heady feeling, but he wasn’t naïve enough to assume that he was cured.  It must be a combination of reasons, such as the lack of urban input plus the fresh and pure forest environment.

And maybe, just maybe, something to do with that young man?

While he had been setting up his campsite and checking out the fishing, all the while hugging his solitude to him like a comforting blanket, he had let his thoughts run free only to find them continually returning to the enigmatic young shop assistant.  And found that he could recall the kid’s person in perfect detail down to a word-for-word replay of their brief exchange.  Although as a detective he had honed his observational techniques to a high degree, he couldn’t remember ever cataloguing another individual quite so thoroughly after such a short acquaintance.   It was somewhat perplexing; especially as the more he thought about it, the more determined he became to meet the young man again.  It was as if he felt compelled to find out more about him, and he would be lying to himself if he denied the attraction he felt pulling at him.  Because the kid was certainly gorgeous.  And what was that buzz that passed between them when they touched?  Was it an indication of their compatibility, because for sure he hadn’t imagined it, or the kid’s reaction?

Hitching at his pants a little to relieve the pressure on his suddenly interested cock, he grinned wryly as he considered that unexpected response.  Even before his senses had started to trouble him he had had little interest in sex for some while even though he could appreciate an attractive body of either persuasion.  He had tried and failed to find a compatible life partner in Carolyn Plummer, the Head of Cascade PD’s Forensics Division, and their farce of a marriage had foundered within eighteen months leaving him disillusioned and bitter.  Since then his occasional dates had either turned out to be criminals or other one-night stands so deeply unsatisfying that he had more or less given up in disgust, despairing of finding someone with whom to share his bed and his life.

Until maybe now.

Now all he could focus on were huge blue eyes and lush lips, accompanied by a soothing and calming voice.  A voice he would have no trouble in listening to and following for the rest of his life.

_Shit, Ellison!  You’ve got it bad!  And the only way to find out for sure is to meet up with that kid again and soon.  Then you’ll know one way or the other whether it’s for real, or you’re just having some sort of sorry mid-life crisis!_

And with that thought, he doused his campfire and retired to his sleeping bag, determined to go into town tomorrow evening - maybe have a drink with the kid after work?  He could but dream.

And dream he did, and it was by far the most erotic and ultimately satisfying dream he had had in ages.

\------------------------------------

For Blair the evening followed the same dreary routine commencing with the relatively short but miserable drive to Baxter Mansion.  At least he had pleasant thoughts of the handsome stranger to divert him this time, but all too soon they pulled up in front of the mansion’s impressive front doors.  Climbing out with his usual polite but insincere word of thanks, Blair turned to make his way around to the side entrance by which he normally entered his rooms.  When Art was around it was also part of the routine that he call Blair in for a drink in his den, ostensibly to offer his stepson a measure of congenial hospitality, but actually a means by which he could ascertain whether there was any change in the young man’s demeanour that he should be concerned about.  Tonight Blair sincerely hoped that his stepfather was otherwise occupied, as he so didn’t want to go through the motions of pseudo-bonhomie, but he was out of luck.  As soon as he entered his room, the internal phone rang and he was ‘cordially invited’ to attend his stepfather and Marcus in the den for a pre-prandial drink in half an hour.  Just long enough for him to shower and change into something a little less scruffy.  Knowing there was no point in creating unnecessary waves; he accepted the invitation and turned to his small en suite shower room to freshen up.  There was nothing for it but to endure the single drink and polite interrogation to which he would undoubtedly be subjected, then he could go to the kitchen and grab some food which he would take up to Naomi’s room, there to eat it in her company.  He rarely if ever ate with his stepfather and Marcus in the formal dining room, thankful that at least Art didn’t push him over that preference.

Then again, Blair thought ruefully, it wasn’t as if Art actually wanted him there, so it was mutually beneficial to observe the minimum of social niceties possible.  And he could certainly do without the continuous and monotonous diatribe from his stepbrother on the subject of Blair’s failings and his own accomplishments.  In fact, the hours spent with his Mom, even if so very painful in view of her random and inconsistent grasp of reality were the best part of Blair’s day, and he wouldn’t have given them up for anything.

And after Naomi had fallen asleep, which she invariably did after too short a time, Blair would take himself back to his room and either work on his precious laptop or read, even now unable to give up on his deeply ingrained compulsion to study and learn.

\----------------------------------------

**Following day, around 6.00 pm, Tyler’s store:**

Pulling up outside Tyler’s store, Jim turned off the truck’s engine and sat for a moment, pondering his unaccustomedly buoyant but slightly anxious emotional state, and running through how he intended to initiate a more informal meeting with Sandburg.  _Jeez, Ellison,_ he thought.  _Anyone would think you’re some schoolkid working up his courage to ask for his first date.  Grow up already!_ He chuckled softly to himself, thinking the scenario was actually very apt.  Then again, since when did Jim ‘Hard-ass’ Ellison concern himself with whether or not he was successful in scoring?  Certainly not for some years, and he grinned sardonically at his own flash of self-awareness.

He had spent an enjoyable day, having hiked a more strenuous trail that morning to visit a recommended viewspot which for once was well worth the extra effort.  Arriving at an open plateau, he had been well impressed with the view from the bluff, and even managed to use his enhanced vision to fully appreciate the stunning scenery spread out below him without going into a fugue state or giving himself a headache.  On returning to his campsite, he had then spent an hour or so fishing, again catching a good-sized trout which he quickly cooked up for a late lunch/early dinner, not knowing whether he would be eating in town or not.

Having cleaned up after his meal, and freshened up a little, he secured the camp as much as possible and returned to his truck to make the trip back to town on the pretence of needing some extra supplies.  And had spent the short drive almost bouncing in anticipation the like of which he hadn’t felt in many a year.  Grinning sardonically now he ordered himself to cool it a little as he didn’t want to spook the kid and may well be setting himself up for disappointment anyhow.  After all, a young man that attractive probably had a girlfriend or two trailing after him – perhaps a boyfriend also – so it wasn’t all that likely that he’d be interested in a cranky cop.

Then again, if he didn’t ask, he wouldn’t get, so he climbed out of the truck and entered the shop, spotting the young man immediately as he pottered around in the stockroom at back.

And it suddenly occurred to Jim that his senses were behaving just fine, thank you very much, just as they had been since he entered the store yesterday.  And once again they were thoroughly appreciating everything they could learn about young Sandburg.

As Benny was conveniently dealing with another customer, Jim grinned at Sandburg, who had emerged from the back room as soon as he realised another customer had entered, and whose face brightened with pleasure as he recognised Jim.

“Hey, man, did you need something else?  I mean, I hope you’re staying a bit longer around here, and not thinking about going home already.  What can I get for you?”

Smiling broadly in response to the younger man’s friendly enquiry, Jim replied, “No, I’m not going home yet.  It’s a great camping spot, just what the doctor ordered.  It’s just that I need some more coffee, and I could do with a new fishing net also.  My old one got damaged yesterday, although it didn’t stop me catching a couple of great trout.  You were right about the hiking too.  I climbed up to Eagle Lookout this morning.  It’s very impressive.”

“Yeah, isn’t it?” Blair responded enthusiastically.  “Mind you, I didn’t go near the edge when I went up there.  I don’t do heights, man!” and he chuckled a little self-consciously as he covertly studied the buff man, secretly thrilled to get another chance to chat with him.

“Anyhow, the coffee’s over on that shelf,” he continued, pointing to the far wall of the store, “And the nets are in back, so if you’ll bear with me, I’ll go fetch a couple of samples and you can choose which you prefer,” and with a wide grin, he scurried into the stockroom to do just that.

Almost smirking in satisfaction at the kid’s gratifyingly positive response to seeing him again, Jim helped himself to a packet of good coffee, and returned to the counter to examine the nets Blair had placed there.  He inspected both with a critical eye before deciding on the more expensive one, thinking that he really could do with replacing his old one even if it wasn’t actually as damaged as he had claimed it was.  Fishing was one of his greatest passions, one he indulged in whenever he got the chance, so it was always worth getting the best equipment he could afford.

“I’ll take this one, Chief.  The size of those beauties in the upper stream and lake requires a stronger net and I intend to do a good bit more fishing while I’m here.  Having said that, I’d really appreciate a beer since I’m in town anyway, so have you any suggestions where I should go?” and he fixed Blair with an inquisitive and appealing gaze.  

Completely unable to resist the older man’s charm, Blair found himself blushing a little as he replied, “Um, well, to be honest, there’s only a couple of places here I’d recommend.  It’s a small town, so really what you see is what you get.  Small-town America at its best.  Or worst, depending on your viewpoint,” he added somewhat cryptically, and his smile slipped a little before he raised his eyes to meet Jim’s again.

“Anyhow, the Timberline Steakhouse is probably your best bet.  They serve a few microbrews there and the food’s pretty good also if you like basic stuff.  At least it’s always fresh and well-prepared.”

“Sounds good to me,” Jim replied, pulling out his wallet to pay for his goods.  Then, as if on an afterthought, he continued, “Say, how would you like to join me?  I mean, I guess you must finish work soon, huh?  As a visitor I’d appreciate a bit of company for a beer or two.  That is, unless you have other plans, of course.  I wouldn’t want to impose.”

And he was perplexed at the mixed reactions his words engendered, all of which were plain to see on the younger man’s mobile face.  Initial pleasure, swiftly replaced by discomfort and even a flash of fear chased across the attractive features as Blair stammered, “Um, I don’t know, man.  I mean, thanks for asking.  But I don’t think I can.  My family’s expecting me…” and he ducked his head as he took the handful of notes Jim held out to him.

Turning quickly to the cash register, he peeked over at Jim from beneath his lashes, seeing his own disappointment reflected on the older man’s handsome face.  And suddenly he was angry at himself.  Angry for responding like some sort of spineless wuss and wondering just how he had allowed himself to become so cowed by the Baxters that his affable and out-going personality had been virtually crushed out of existence.  No, damn it!  He was going to have a friendly drink with this personable stranger, and to hell with his new family’s unreasonable demands and expectations.

Moving back to hand over Jim’s change, he raised his eyes to meet the bigger man’s and said firmly, “If that offer’s still on, man, I’d be glad to show you the Timberline and have a beer with you.  I finish at 6.30, so if you don’t mind waiting a few, I can be with you shortly.”

And Jim’s smile was as broad as his own as he nodded.  “No problem, Chief.  And the name’s Ellison.  Jim Ellison,” and he held out his hand in greeting.

“Blair Sandburg, Jim.  Pleased to meet you,” and the two men shared a satisfied smile as their palms met and there was that odd but comforting tingle again.

\----------------------------------------

By the time the two men arrived at the Timberline Steakhouse, Blair was chatting cheerfully, his expressions and mannerisms animated as he entertained Jim with astute and sometimes irreverent comments and observations about the township and its inhabitants.  The apparently relaxed and happy façade would no doubt have convinced most observers that all was well in his world, but Jim knew differently for several reasons, nearly all thanks to his enhanced senses.  Not that he would have let on to his new companion of course, it being far too early in their relationship for such revealing explanations; if indeed such a thing was to be allowed to develop between them.  It was simply that for some reason Jim felt compelled to monitor the young man at every available opportunity, and his senses were all collaborating well to achieve that end.  And because of that he was only too aware of the underlying upset and tension beneath Blair’s amiable exterior.

It had started several minutes after Jim had left the store, intending to take a leisurely stroll down the main street to wile away the twenty minutes or so before Blair finished work.  As he walked, his hearing seemed to zero in automatically on Blair, so he had no trouble in overhearing the unpleasant exchange between Blair and his employer as the young man prepared to leave the store.

“Why the hurry tonight, Sandburg?  You’re not usually so keen to leave.  Anyone would think you had a hot date.”  Benny’s taunting words were snide and spiteful, and Jim fancied that it was the tone he normally used where Blair was concerned.

“Um, yeah.  Well, that is, I said I’d show Mr Ellison around the town before he goes back to his campsite, that’s all.  Just pointing out the high spots, you know?  So maybe he’ll come back here again – perhaps bring some friends.  Good for the tourist trade, huh…?”  Blair seemed to be making a determined effort to keep the conversation polite, although from the tension underscoring his placatory tone Jim surmised that it was probably a forlorn hope.

“Huh!  Maybe I need to find you some extra work tonight if you’ve got that much time on your hands, boy.  You haven’t done any overtime for a while now and I’ll bet you haven’t finished the stocktaking to my satisfaction.  Perhaps you need to do it again.”  This time the man’s tone was definitely malicious and even threatening, and Jim found himself preparing to return to the shop to bail out his new friend if necessary.  However, Blair’s next words were patient but determinedly delivered even if very slightly wavering to Jim’s sharp ears; and it was plain that he wasn’t going to be overridden on this occasion.

“The stocktake is done, Benny, and so is the reorganisation you wanted in the storeroom as you’ve already noted.  And the weekly takings are balanced also and ready for banking.  It’s 6.30 on Friday night, man, and I’m leaving, OK? 

“See you tomorrow, Benny,” and Blair exited the store without another word although Jim could hear the bad-tempered if muttered cursing coming from within.

Even from across the street, Jim could see Blair’s flushed and aggrieved expression, only to see it replaced by a sudden pallor and look of trepidation as a large, very new and shiny black Lexus approached and pulled up alongside the young man.

“Hurry up, _bro!_ Let’s get moving.  I have a dinner date at the Club tonight and I don’t need you holding me up.”

The peremptory voice issuing from inside the vehicle might be younger and more refined, but it was just as unpleasant as Tyler’s as it targeted Blair.  But once again Blair stuck to his guns, even though in Jim’s view he seemed to be even more concerned with possible retaliation.

“I’m not coming back with you tonight, Marcus, so don’t worry about me delaying you.  I’m going for a beer with a friend, and I’ll get a lift back later, OK?  My regards to Art, and I’ll see him later.”  Blair’s resolve held firm and he turned decisively away from the car, spotting Jim approaching from across the street and offering him a relieved and friendly grin despite the hammering of his heart within his chest.

Which had he but known it, Jim could hear with ease, even as he could see the nervous sweat beading Blair’s hairline and upper lip.  And the young man’s enticing personal scent was soured by a tang of what Jim decided must be fear and/or anxiety.

Although aware of the arrogant young face glowering at him through the Lexus’ tinted glass, Jim deliberately ignored the car and its occupant, and strode up to Blair, his own expression open and welcoming and giving no hint that he had heard or seen anything untoward.

“OK, Chief?  Show me the way to the beer!” and he nonchalantly threw a companionable arm around the smaller man’s shoulders as he steered them towards his truck, ostensively displaying the protectiveness he felt towards Sandburg, and not ashamed to show it.  And even better was the happy smile that rewarded him as Blair turned to look up at him, nothing but pleasure and appreciation in the large blue eyes.

“Hey, Jim.  Thanks for waiting, man.  The Timberline’s not far from here – just off the main street up by the lumber yards.  Used to be a real dive, just catering for the logging trade really, but now it’s tidied up some to try and attract visitors instead,” and Blair was off and running, all his attention focussed on Jim now, and his own discomfort firmly pushed aside.

\----------------------------------

An hour and a half and two beers each later, Blair glanced apologetically over at Jim and announced regretfully that he had to get back home.

“I’m sorry, man.  It’s been a real pleasure talking with you, but I have to go now.  I need to see Mom and let my stepfather know I haven’t run off or something!” and he smiled ruefully, trying to make a joke of his words even though Jim could easily read the real pain behind them.

“No problem, Chief.  I’ll drop you off then get back to the campsite.  But have you decided whether you can meet me for dinner tomorrow night?  We can come back here again if you like, and then perhaps on Sunday you might like to spend the day fishing with me.  I’m assuming you have Sundays off?”

Blair’s expression was both eager and hopeful if tinged with anxiety as he contemplated his answer.  He had thoroughly enjoyed their brief meeting, finding Jim to be an intelligent and interesting conversationalist, and every bit as attractive and companionable as Blair had hoped and imagined him to be.  It had been so long since had had enjoyed such a relaxed yet stimulating evening, and he didn’t want it to end even though he knew it had to.

But the thought of meeting up again was so tempting, and he was so grateful that Jim seemed to genuinely enjoy Blair’s company also.  It was just that he knew Art wasn’t going to like it simply because it was something Blair wanted so much to do.  And he had many ways with which to make his displeasure known.

Then again, wouldn’t it be worth it just to spend some quality time with Jim?  Straightening up, his eyes shining now with happiness and his smile open and carefree he replied, “Yes, Jim.  I’d love to have dinner with you tomorrow, and a day’s fishing sounds great!  Shall I meet you here or do you want to pick me up at the store again?  I do have transport, but can’t really rely on it, because my old Corvair hasn’t been out for a run in a while and I don’t want to keep you waiting while she decides whether to start or not!”

Jim chuckled in response, his own pleasure plain to see as he said, “I’ll pick you up again, Chief.  It’s no bother, and I can drop you home again also.  But let’s get moving since you have to get back.  I don’t want you to miss your curfew!”  His sympathetic tone and understanding smile robbed the words of their sting, and Blair snickered along with him.

“Thanks, Jim.  I really appreciate it,” and he stood up to leave, Jim once again quite naturally resting a hand on his shoulder, making him feel both wanted and welcome – a heady feeling which his touch-starved soul absorbed with delight.

\-------------------------------------------------

On the drive back to the campsite, Jim pondered the events of the evening, frowning as he recalled the conversation and piecing together the few clues and details he had actually managed to glean from Blair Sandburg.  The young man had charmed him with his enthusiasm and intellect as he had entertained Jim with anecdotes and tales from his peripatetic past, and his on-going love affair with anthropology, but had deftly avoided giving away any information about his present circumstances, other than a brief explanation that his mother had been in an accident and that he was presently staying in Pine Valley Creek to help look out for her.  On the other hand, Jim had found himself telling Blair far more about himself than he had ever confided in anyone else, even his friend and captain, Simon Banks; a fact that amazed him especially after such a brief acquaintance.

Not that he had divulged anything about his senses.  It was simply that he talked more freely about his time in the military than usual.  Of course he couldn’t mention his involvement in ‘black ops’, and chose not to speak of the last disastrous mission to Peru that had led to his resigning his commission, but he was surprisingly comfortable with discussing his experiences in general terms.  He also talked about his latter career as a cop, the revelation of which profession didn’t faze Blair at all, apart from a slightly nervous glance at the beer he was drinking.  But as Jim had said, while shrugging nonchalantly in an effort to dispel the young man’s unease. “It’s OK, Chief.  I’m out of my jurisdiction here anyway, and seeing as you’re only a few weeks away from being legal, I don’t have a problem with you having a couple of beers to keep me company.

“As long as that’s all it is…” and he had treated Blair to a mock-ferocious scowl which had had the desired effect of making Blair chuckle and grin in relief.

“Thanks, man, I appreciate it.  I promise you it’s not something I do often – don’t get the chance – but I’ve really enjoyed tonight.”  And Jim had been warmed by the sincerity in Blair’s words and tone of voice.

However, he had been perplexed again on the kid’s behalf when he had dropped Blair off at the Baxter Mansion.  He had been impressed by the size and scope of the well-kept residence and had said as much, but Blair’s reply and enthusiasm had been muted, to say the least.  Almost as if the place repelled him, in fact.  And when Jim pulled up outside the front doors, Blair had offered him a wistful smile along with his thanks for the lift and the evening out before climbing down from the truck and heading around the side of the house, obviously making for what Jim assumed would be the ‘tradesman’s entrance’, or that of the servants’ quarters.

Curious as to just what positions Blair and his mother held in such a place, Jim drove away determined to find out more when they met for dinner the following night.

\------------------------------------------------

**Part 2:  Connections Made:**

**Saturday evening:**

Once again Blair waited on the boardwalk outside Tyler’s store, looking out for Jim’s arrival with nervous anticipation.  He was more excited at the prospect of a casual dinner date than he could ever recall, but the feeling was offset by the niggling fear that Jim might not show, having decided that Blair wasn’t really worth the effort.  After all, why would such a buff and attractive older man see anything worthwhile in an ex grad student and reluctant poor relation?  But if he didn’t show, then so be it, Blair decided.  He had long been used to coming second in social situations and relationships, even with his beloved Naomi, so with the exception of his readily-acknowledged academic prowess he had grown accustomed to handling his disappointments with well-concealed resignation and superficial aplomb.

Turning his mind to pleasanter thoughts, he recalled his visit with Naomi that morning.  Knowing that he wouldn’t be having dinner with her, and might not be back in time to see her before her bedtime he had joined her for breakfast instead.  Her day carer Alison had just finished helping his Mom eat as her coordination was poor now, and had left them together for a few minutes’ privacy.  Although not unduly friendly towards Blair, the woman was polite enough, and was competent, gentle and professional in her dealings with Naomi, so Blair treated her with due respect and appreciation. 

“Hey, Mom, how are you feeling this morning?  You’re looking good.”  It was true, since she had regained a little colour and Blair was certain that her elfin features were more animated than before.  And although still short after being clipped for the surgery needed to treat her head injuries, her red hair looked clean and shiny thanks to Alison, and Blair still considered her to be beautiful.

“Anyhow, I just wanted to tell you that I won’t be up tonight.  I’m going to dinner with a friend.  His name’s Jim and he’s just visiting.  But you’d like him, Mom.  Even if he is a pi…cop!” and he chuckled as he recalled her standard reaction to ‘jack-booted pigs’ in her activist past.

“I might go fishing with him tomorrow also, all being well, but I’ll come see you first and let you know how things go tonight, OK?  Take care, and have a good day, Mom,” and he had leaned forward to kiss her forehead.

And was taken aback when her eyes actually followed his movement and a shaking hand reached up to pat his cheek.

“You too, Sweetie,” she murmured softly, then before Blair could respond, the moment of clarity was gone and her unfocussed gaze drifted away again.

But he was still thrilled at the tiny evidence of returning awareness, at the same time instinctively knowing that he wasn’t going to tell anyone about it, particularly Art.   He didn’t trust his stepfather where Naomi was concerned despite the man’s conspicuous practical support although he had no idea as yet what he could do to remedy the situation.  And he certainly couldn’t bear the thought of Naomi being tried and convicted of dangerous driving.

If only he could confide in Jim.  But that was silly.  He’d only known the guy for a couple of days.  _Then why do I feel so drawn to him?  And why do I think he’d help me?  He’s a cop after all…_

His thoughts were distracted as he spotted Jim’s tall figure approaching from down the street, a relaxed and cheerful grin lighting the patrician features, ice-blue eyes focussed intently on Blair.  And Blair’s answering smile was blinding as he moved towards his friend, already eagerly anticipating another evening of good conversation and companionship.

\---------------------------------------

For Jim the anticipation was just as sharp, and was accompanied by resolve and determination to do a little sleuthing into Blair’s circumstances.  The compulsion to protect and care for the young man had grown even greater in the hours since they had parted, and he had spent an interesting and rewarding day to that end. 

After indulging in another long and invigorating hike, he had driven to town earlier than necessary, hoping to learn more about the small community and the Baxters’ status within it.  And by extension their hold over Blair and his Mom.  He had struck lucky within a very short time once he had located a small gift shop-cum-post office, knowing from experience that the owners and managers of such places tended to be founts of local knowledge, and he wasn’t disappointed.

The affable, inquisitive and garrulous woman behind the counter was exactly what he was hoping to find, and he turned up the charm using his most effective and sensitive interrogation techniques to elicit a very rewarding quantity of willingly-offered information.

Ida Peabody, the post mistress, took an instant liking to the handsome stranger, and was perfectly amenable to answering his polite questions, happy to secure his attention for as long as possible.  Her information was a mix of gossip, fact and personal observation, and taken overall, very enlightening.  Patiently enduring a potted history of the township, Jim was able to steer the conversation away from the previous generations of Baxters and other original founding families to concentrate on the present incumbents of Baxter Mansion, and Ida was only too happy to oblige.

Although outwardly respectful towards Art and his natural son Marcus, reading between the lines and judging by her body language and expressions Jim surmised that Ida didn’t particularly approve of them, or even like them much.  And she was more than eager to divulge more recent information as regards Art Baxter’s new wife, and how they had met.

“She came to protest about him wanting to chop more trees down, you know.  And ended up marrying him!  What do you say to that?  And then the poor woman had a terrible accident!  She was in the car with Marcus, and they hit poor Fred Olson.  Didn’t stand a chance, poor man.  His poor family!  And Art has been so good about it, you know.  Surprised me for sure.  He provided for Fred’s family, and has hired round-the-clock nursing care so he can have Naomi at home with him.

“Such a lovely lady she was, you know.  Always friendly and helpful, and just getting known and active in the community.  And now they say she’s nothing but a vegetable!

“And then there’s that lovely boy of hers.  Blair, his name is.  Always friendly and polite, even if he does look a bit – shall we say – bohemian?  Came back from studying in Cascade just to help look after his Mom, what do you think of that?  Pity he couldn’t get a better job though.  I feel so sorry for him having to work at that Benny Tyler’s place.  Rude man, that.  Art’s cousin he may be, but not popular.  But Blair puts up with it, and with that Marcus too, who’s always bad-mouthing him and treating him like dirt just because he’s poor!  Alison McCready, Naomi’s day nurse says that Blair lives in the old servant’s quarters.  Doesn’t even have a room in the main house!  No way to treat a stepson, even a poor one, to my mind!”

Just then, another customer had arrived, so Jim made the most of the opportunity to escape, having learned more than enough for the time being.

Now to meet up with Blair and try to prise a little more personal information out of him if possible….

\--------------------------------------------

Once more seated comfortably in a quiet booth in the Timberline Steakhouse, Jim and Blair chatted amicably as if they’d known each other for years, not just three days.  They had both ordered their meals, with Jim eagerly anticipating a steak with everything, and Blair had ordered the warm chicken salad.  Although it was undoubtedly the cheaper option, Blair explained that he didn’t eat much in the way of red meat anyway, mentioning that his Mom was a vegetarian, and had brought him up that way until he had settled down in Cascade to attend the university.

Casually following up on the throwaway comment to push for a little more in-depth personal revelation, Jim asked Blair about his studies, already aware that the kid had a real jones for anthropology.  And for once, Blair allowed his enthusiasm to carry him along as he explained about his choice of topic for his Master’s thesis, unknowingly sparking real interest in his companion.

Impressed by Blair’s remarkable achievements despite his tender years, Jim was fascinated to learn about the concept of tribal sentinels and their contribution to their tribes’ welfare, and was preparing to push for more detail when his sensitive ears overheard a snippet of unwelcome conversation over at the bar.  He could see that his new friend wasn’t aware of anything untoward, but Jim realised that the local Sheriff had arrived, and was asking pointed questions of the barman regarding his patrons, specifically Blair and Jim.  He knew therefore that they were about to be interrupted, so he casually reached over and took hold of Blair’s half-finished beer and poured it into his own glass, his eyes telegraphing a warning to Blair when the younger man looked askance at the strange action.

“Sheriff’s approaching, Chief,” he murmured softly.  “Better not let him see you drinking, huh?” and he pushed a glass of water over to Blair instead, winking conspiratorially as the town’s lawman appeared at his shoulder.

“Evening, young Blair.  Don’t see you in town often at this time of night.  Does Art know where you are?  And I hope you’re not indulging in liquor, young man!” and the corpulent man sniggered unpleasantly.

“Who’s your friend?”  The tone was borderline insulting, and obviously intended to provoke an angry response, but neither Blair nor Jim had any intention of rising to the bait.

Carefully reining in his desire to answer back, Blair smiled cheerfully instead, although the heartbeats thundering in Jim’s ears were proof of his internal distress.   

“Evening, Sheriff Hales.  Nice to see you.  May I introduce--?”

“Ellison.  Detective Jim Ellison, Cascade PD Major Crimes,” interrupted Jim, turning smoothly to face Hales with an apparently friendly smile, except that it didn’t reach his eyes; the cold and appraising expression within which made Hales step back a little, swallowing audibly in momentary discomfort before resuming his bluff and self-important attitude.

“Er, so what does a big city cop want with our little town, then?” Hales demanded with forced geniality, his own grin shark-like if somewhat strained.

“Oh, just making the most of your excellent camping facilities, Sheriff.  Even us city boys like to have some peace and quiet every so often.  And Blair here has been kind enough to show me around and introduce me to the area.  And keep me company while we enjoy a good meal.

“And here it comes!” he added, nodding towards the approaching waitress.

“If you’ll excuse us?” and he raised a quizzical brow at Hales, politely but pointedly dismissing the man who had no option but to withdraw if he wasn’t to look boorish and ill-mannered.

As Hales swaggered away, Blair blew out a relieved breath.  “Sorry, man.  You didn’t need that display of attitude just before eating.  I guess Art’s making sure he keeps tabs on me,” and he stared morosely down at his plate, his appetite suddenly gone.

“Hey, it’s OK, Blair.  His attitude doesn’t bother me in the slightest, only insofar as it upsets you.  We’ve given him no ammunition to use against you, so let’s just enjoy our meal, OK?  Certainly looks pretty good….” And Blair found himself relaxing again in the face of Jim’s apparent insouciance, and tucked in with a will.

\-------------------------------------------

A short while later, with the empty plates cleared away, both men lingered over a last cup of coffee while they each took a moment to reflect on their respective reactions to the evening so far.  They had both undoubtedly enjoyed the food, but by mutual consent had kept conversation general and uncontroversial whilst they ate, neither of them wanting to blight the occasion with potentially unsettling topics.  However, Blair knew the time had come to open up to Jim a little more, and if it soured their budding friendship, then he would just have to swallow his disappointment and live with it.  Looking up to meet Jim’s gentle but enquiring gaze, he smiled a little ruefully as he began.

“I’ve really enjoyed this evening, Jim, and I’m glad the food lived up to its reputation.  But I’m really sorry about the business with Sheriff Hales, man.  I hope it didn’t spoil it for you too much, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.  I should have expected some sort of surveillance.  And I owe you an explanation.  It’s only fair that you know who and what I am,” and his lips thinned as he built up his courage to tell Jim everything.

Only to pause in consternation as Jim reached over and patted his hand, his own expression kind and understanding.

“It’s fine, Chief.  I mean, I’d like to hear as much as you want to tell me, but I do have some prior knowledge.  Can we say ‘Ida Peabody’?”  And Blair burst into delighted chuckles as he replied, “Oh, man!  If you’ve talked to Ida, then I doubt if there’s anything else I can add!  She’s a really good soul, Jim, but she’s the living proof that oral tradition is alive and well and exists in Pine Valley Creek!  Did she give you the full rundown on the town’s history?” and at Jim’s rueful nod of affirmation his grin widened for a moment before dimming significantly again.

“Then you’ll also know about the Baxters’ standing in the community, I guess.  Which is why nothing is done without approval from the Mansion.  Did Ida tell you about Mom also?”

Face and tone conveying his sympathy, Jim nodded again as he replied, “She didn’t go into detail, Blair, but she told me your mom had an accident shortly after marrying Art Baxter.  She was very sympathetic, Chief.  Said your mom was a lovely lady who was just settling in nicely when the accident happened.  She also told me how badly she was injured, and that you had come back from Cascade to help take care of her.  How’m I doing so far?”

“That just bout sums it up, Jim.  Not much else to add.  Except that Art is very controlling and possessive about family – even the unwanted members – which is why he insists on keeping tabs on me.  Not that he could care less what happens to me.  Just doesn’t want some little hippy nobody tarnishing the family name is all.  I’m really sorry if it makes me too uncomfortable to be around, Jim.  I’d understand if it’s too much trouble to take me fishing tomorrow.”

“It’d trouble me much more if you didn’t come, Chief.  I’m looking forward to our day’s fishing.  And as far as interference from the likes of Hales is concerned, it only bothers me because it bothers you, kiddo.  So let’s forget about it for now, and I’ll give you a lift home.  And I’m getting the check, so no arguments, OK?  I asked you here and I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the company, so I intend to pay.”  And he grabbed the check and headed to the bar to settle up before Blair could utter a word in protest.

Pulling up outside the Baxter Mansion a short while later, Jim turned to smile at his passenger before Blair climbed out.  “Thanks for the company, Chief.  Have a good night, and see you at 7.00 am here OK?  Unless you’ve changed your mind about using your own wheels?”

“Nah, not this time, Jim - just in case!  But I really will try and get her sorted soon.  I need to know I have some independence and mobility, but I appreciate your picking me up.  And thank _you_ for a great evening,” and the smile he directed at Jim nearly took the older man’s breath away.  Controlling the urge to reach across the bench seat and pull the young man into his arms only with great difficulty, Jim replied, “De nada, kiddo.  See you bright and early and ready to catch fish!”

Once Blair jumped out of the truck, turning to wave cheerfully before walking away, Jim waited until the smaller man was out of sight around the side of the building before pulling away, his hearing confirming that Blair was safely inside and missing his comforting presence already.

\-------------------------------------------

**Art Baxter’s den, earlier that evening:**

With exaggerated care, Art replaced the handset on his desk telephone, the tightly controlled action belying the fury burning in his eyes and etched on his handsome face.  Damn that boy!  And damn all nosy strangers too!  If the information conveyed in the call he’d just taken was anything to go by, there was a potentially dangerous situation brewing.  One he’d have to take care of quickly before it blew up in his face.

Despite his stepfather’s vociferous disapproval, Blair had chosen to ignore him anyway and gone out to dinner with that man from the campsite, and now Hales had advised him that the guy – Ellison – was a detective on vacation from Cascade PD’s Major Crimes Unit.  Of all the people the kid could have taken up with, it had to be a cop!  And the kid had told him just that morning that Ellison had invited him to go fishing on his day off, and that he’d accepted in defiance of Art’s express wishes to the contrary.  Damn Naomi for raising such a strong-minded and independent brat.  Just when Art believed he had been successful in quelling the boy and breaking his spirit, all it had taken was one unexpected meeting to reignite the little bastard’s resistance and penchant for disobedience.

He had to be controlled.  There was no way Art could allow even the possibility of his cop friend doing any snooping into Art’s business, because God alone knew what he might uncover.  And as for discovering the truth about the accident, it didn’t bear thinking of.  Marcus must be protected at all costs, and to hell with the Sandburgs, and Ellison too.

\------------------------------------------------

Humming softly to himself, Blair ran lightly up the stairs to Naomi’s room, intending to look in on her before retiring for the night.  He felt exhilarated and wanted to share his happiness with his Mom if she was still awake, but even if she wasn’t he needed to see her anyway just to convince himself that she was no worse.  And since he believed in the current view that many comatose and/or brain-damaged people could actually hear perfectly well even though apparently unresponsive, he was accustomed to keep chatting to and confiding in her anyway.  The last thing he expected was to see his stepfather emerging from her room, and he was immediately concerned that something must be wrong.  Art never visited his wife at night, only making a duty call first thing in the morning before getting on with the important business of the day.

“What is it?  Is Mom OK?  Has something happened?”  Blair’s breathless words betrayed his anxiety as he closed the distance between him and Baxter.

Pursing his lips in obvious displeasure, Art studied Blair coldly for a moment before answering.  “Control yourself, boy!  I don’t appreciate being spoken to in that tone for whatever reason, and your over-emotional reactions are unseemly.

“No, your mother is no worse, but no better either, so there’s no need for panic.  Actually, it’s you I wanted to see, and I guessed you would make your way up here once you decided to come home after gallivanting around all night.  Go and say goodnight to your mother, if she’s still awake, then come to the den.  I’ll expect you in fifteen minutes.”  And without further ado, he turned on his heel and descended the stairs, certain that his stepson would comply with his demands without question.

\----------------------------------------

When Blair entered the den exactly fifteen minutes later, he found Art and Marcus both there enjoying a glass of Art’s pretentiously expensive single malt.  They looked up as he entered, and once again Blair was struck by the unpleasant feeling their combined gazes engendered in him, as if he was some sort of exotic but distasteful species of bug.  Art’s stare was cold and calculating, but Marcus’ was that smug smirk he adopted when he knew his bothersome stepbrother was about to get his ass kicked, verbally, at least.  Straightening his shoulders, Blair adopted his most stoic expression, determined not to give them the pleasure of seeing him squirm.

“Well, here I am, Art.  How can I help you?”  Blair’s tone was coolly polite, and he was gratified to see the slight wince his stepfather gave at the use of his given name.  But there was no way Blair would call this person ‘Dad’ or even ‘Father’ like his obnoxious stepbrother did.  To him, Baxter was someone to whom he owed respect since he lived under the man’s roof and to whom he was indebted for his support for Naomi, but they certainly shared no mutual liking and very little understanding.

He shouldn’t really have been surprised then when Art immediately went on the offensive.

“So, you’ve decided to thumb your nose at me and persist in seeing this visitor.  This ‘cop’!” and his sneering tone imbued the word with distaste.  At Blair’s start of surprise, he continued, “Yes, I heard all about it from Sheriff Hales.  He happened to see you two cosying up at the Timberline.  He said you looked more than friendly.  So, tell me.  Are you some sort of queer after all?”

Recoiling in shock and hurt, Blair unwittingly provided Art with all the proof he needed that his supposition was correct.  He had suspected as much, simply on the grounds of Blair’s appearance, but now he was certain, and was not surprisingly deeply affronted at the concept.

“You dirty little pervert!  This is your mother’s doing, raising you in some damned hippy ‘alternative lifestyle’.  I should have guessed as much as soon as I laid eyes on you!

“I’m telling you right now, boy, if you think you can get away with bringing shame and dishonour on our family, you’re very much mistaken.  I should throw you out on your ear right this minute!”

Horrified at first, Blair’s anger soon ignited under the unfounded accusations.  Sure, he considered himself as potentially bisexual, but up until now hadn’t really acted upon it, never having met the right guy.  On the other hand, he wouldn’t stand to hear Naomi being bad-mouthed by Baxter.  She may not have met with the standard expectations polite society might consider as necessary ‘mommy material’, but he loved her dearly all the same, and for the most part was grateful for the lifestyle he had experienced while growing up.

“That’s enough!  Don’t you dare speak of Naomi like that!  You’ve no right to judge her on her life before she met you, just as you’ve no right to judge me!  For your information, I’ve done nothing ‘unsavoury’ with Detective Ellison whatever Hales alleges! All I want is to enjoy some friendly company while I can, because goddess knows I don’t get any in this house unless it’s at Mom’s bedside.

“Yes, I’m grateful that you’re taking care of her, but I can promise you I won’t stay any longer than I have to once she’s well enough to manage without me.  And I have no intention of passing up the opportunity to see as much of Jim Ellison as I can.  It’s not much to ask after all these months of living a half-life under your roof and under your thumb.  And now I’m going to bed, and tomorrow I’m going fishing!”

And with that, he whirled about and strode to the door and out of the room before his adrenaline-fuelled determination deserted him, knowing he was close to shedding tears of frustration and so not wanting to break down in front of those two.  As he virtually ran to the connecting door leading to the servants’ quarters, he heard Art’s furious voice echoing in his wake.

“Come back here at once, boy!  Don’t you dare defy me…?”

But Blair had no intention of obeying him, and raced to his room to slam the door behind him, locking himself in to face his fear and misery alone.

\--------------------------------------

**Sunday morning, 7.00 am:**

At 7.00 am precisely Jim rolled up to the gates of the Baxter Mansion to find Blair already there and waiting for him.  However, his smile of greeting died as he took in the strain and exhaustion on the young man’s face which Blair’s own answering smile completely failed to disguise.  Leaning over to throw open the passenger door, he voiced his concern.  “Shit, Chief, you look like you haven’t slept all night!  What’s the matter?”  And Blair climbed in, knowing that he couldn’t hold back any longer, and praying that Jim wouldn’t be either disgusted with him, or disinclined to concern himself with some pathetic kid and his emotional baggage.

Beginning with the altercation with Art the previous evening, he poured out the whole sorry tale of Naomi’s accident and the current situation at the house, dashing impatiently at the tears which rolled persistently down his cheeks.  He half expected Jim to turn the truck around at any moment and drive him back to the mansion, unwilling to burden himself with his passenger’s pitiful woes, but instead Jim continued to drive up to the campsite, listening patiently and interjecting a word or question at appropriate moments, plainly sympathetic and sincerely interested in hearing everything Blair had to say.

Although internally fuming at the injustice of it all, Jim managed to restrain his own angry impulses and worked instead on calming Blair down and reassuring him that in Jim he had a friend that he could rely on.

Eventually, Blair wound down, and peering over at Jim, red-eyed and remorseful, he murmured apologetically, “Thanks for listening so patiently, Jim.  I’m so sorry to bend your ear with my troubles.  I know it’s hardly what you signed up for when you invited me out for the day.  I’ll completely understand if you’d rather give it a miss.  I’m pretty dismal company at the moment.”  And he was completely undone when, far from grabbing at the ‘out’ Blair had offered him; Jim reached over and squeezed his knee instead.

“Wouldn’t dream of it kiddo, and we’re almost there anyhow.  I think you needed to unload, and I’m more than happy to act as your sounding board while you get your emotions sorted out and under control.  You’re looking at the king of repression here, Chief, but just because I don’t practice what I preach it doesn’t mean I can’t help you out.  It seems to me that you’ve had more than enough to cope with unaided over the last few months, so let’s just enjoy today for what it is, and work on unwinding for a few hours, OK?”  And in his turn he was treated to the most wonderful gift.  Blair smiled shyly over at him, his face suffused with relief and gratitude, enhanced by no small amount of adoration and hero-worship.  Jim might have felt unworthy of such strong and genuine reactions, but he was profoundly touched anyhow, and vowed silently to try to live up to the young man’s expectations.

And one of the first things he intended to do was continue with his own private investigation into the situation in the Baxter Mansion, and if Art hurt Blair in any way, he could expect a visit from a very pissed-off MCU detective.  Jim’s cop instinct was in overdrive, and he was certain that there was more to Blair’s story than meets the eye, Baxter’s motives being suspicious to say the least.

\-----------------------------------------

Some while later the two men were standing a short distance apart on the river bank, each lost in his own thoughts as they concentrated on their fishing.  Blair was using one of Jim’s spare rods, not having one of his own, but he was already proving to be more than proficient in its use, having caught a decent sized trout within the first few minutes.  Jim had grinned indulgently at the younger man’s unaffected delight, glad to see such a carefree expression lighten the attractive features which were definitely made for joy, not sorrow.

As for Blair, he found that the relaxing pursuit and undemanding company had worked wonders on his bruised psyche, and he was feeling calmer and more content than he had in months.  He knew it had everything to do with the big man who had befriended him against all his expectations, and a warm glow of gratitude spread through him as he glanced over to where Jim stood, patiently playing his line and concentrating on his next catch.  Ellison’s movements were smooth and economical, but Blair knew that no one but a fool would mistake them for laziness or abstraction.  The man was a hidden powerhouse waiting to be unleashed, and Blair was in awe that such a muscular and undoubtedly potentially lethal body could contain such a gentle and understanding soul – at least where Blair was concerned – and he thanked karma and the goddess for her generosity on his behalf.

But there was another side to Jim Ellison which he was equally driven to explore, now that he had temporarily shelved his own problems.  Without his anxiety to distract him, he was able to concentrate on Jim, his considerable observational skill as an anthropologist serving him in good stead as he surreptitiously studied his new friend, cataloguing hints and actions that struck a chord deep within him.  As he watched, he noticed Jim tilt his head slightly, nostrils twitching a little even though he maintained an outwardly relaxed stance.  And was reminded of similar actions he had unconsciously witnessed in Jim when they had been in the Timberline Steakhouse, just before Sheriff Hales had approached them.  Actions which had preceded his own eventual perception of the obnoxious lawman’s arrival by some considerable time.  Did he dare draw the conclusions he so dearly wished to?  Were Jim’s senses of smell and hearing enhanced?  And maybe even more?

While he had been working on his Master’s thesis on Tribal Sentinels, he had also been gathering as much information as he could on the possible existence of modern, urban sentinels in the hope that one day he might be able to write his doctoral dissertation on that topic.  But until now he had only found potential study subjects with one or maybe two heightened senses at most, such as perfumers, wine tasters and virtuoso musicians.  And of course since his arrival at Pine Valley Creek, there had been little or no time or opportunity to pursue his academic dreams in any field other than superficially.

But how he would love to find a real sentinel, even if there was no chance he would ever get to write about him.  Just to observe such a one would be a dream come true, and if he happened to be in the form of Jim Ellison, well, bam!  Holy Grail time!  And maybe Blair might even be able to help, if so required.  After all to the best of his knowledge there was no one else presently studying this particular phenomenon.

He couldn’t prevent the wistful smile that spread across his face at that notion, any more than he could control the excited beating of his heart, and at that moment it never occurred to him that he could be leaking pheromones also at the thought of those powerful arms around him, protecting him and maybe even loving him….

A few yards away, Jim was also deep in thought, nearly all of which was on the subject of Blair Sandburg.  He might not be any sort of psychic or mind reader, but his senses were proving to be an invaluable asset in a covert but in-depth evaluation of the young man’s physiological responses and reactions to his surroundings.  And to Jim’s own presence, if he wasn’t mistaken.  He was amazed at the effortless way he was able to control them as long as Blair was nearby, and he knew that he couldn’t put off revealing his secret any longer.  After all, Blair had told him himself of his fascination with the subject of sentinels, and Jim was growing more convinced by the hour that the kid must possess some sort of knowledge relevant to Jim’s own situation which might help him, or even enable him to switch the damned senses off rather than lose control of them again.

The opportunity for their discussion arose while they were enjoying a lunch of freshly-caught fish, expertly cooked by Blair using a traditional Native American recipe. 

Swallowing down the last delicious mouthful, Blair patted his full tummy and grinned over at Jim exclaiming, “Oh, man!  That’s just got to be the best meal I’ve had in ages!  Fresh fish and great company; can’t beat it!”  Then, realising what he had said and how it could be interpreted, he blushed endearingly and bit his lower lip, plainly expecting some sort of ridicule or rebuke.   However, Jim merely smiled gently in response, no snippy comeback forthcoming as he cheered himself silly internally, thrilled that he had apparently read Blair’s physiological signals correctly and the younger man really did have feelings for him.

“Couldn’t agree more, Chief.  I have to say it beats the Timberline hands down, and that food was way better than I had expected.  But you sure can cook, Blair, and you can fish also.  What more could I ask?” 

Chuckling in relief, Blair’s grin widened as he replied, “Thanks Jim.  I have to say I enjoy cooking and I’ve had the opportunity of experiencing and experimenting with culinary techniques and ingredients from a lot of very different places.  It’s nice when someone appreciates it!”

Sitting back, he regarded Jim with a touch of apprehension as he continued, “Um, Jim?  What’s with the ‘Chief’ thing?  Not that I don’t like it – I really do – but it’s sort of, I don’t know, intimate?” and he shut down again, hoping he hadn’t ruined everything when it was going so well between them.

He needn’t have worried, as Jim just grinned a little sheepishly.  “Sorry about that, Blair.  It just came naturally to me.  It was something a close friend from my childhood used to call me, and it seemed to fit.  I’m glad it doesn’t upset you.”

“Oh no, man, not at all!  I haven’t had a nickname like that in years!  Well, not one I’d care to repeat, so no problem, Jim.  I love it!”

“That’s good, because I’ve a feeling I’m going to be using a lot more in the future.  But there is something else I’d like to discuss with you, Chief, and I’m hoping it’ll turn out to be something you can help me with.  I’d like you to finish telling me all you’ve learned about sentinels.”

\--------------------------------------

To say that Blair was flabbergasted would be an understatement.  It was the very last thing he had expected from Jim, even though it was the subject he most dearly wanted to pursue.  He had expected to have to introduce the topic indirectly and with great tact, and now, thrown completely for a loop; it took him several seconds to gather his scattered wits together enough to make a coherent reply.

“Well, um, sure if that’s what you really want, Jim.  I’m just a bit surprised is all?  See, as it’s a pretty arcane topic, hardly anyone I know outside of academia is even remotely interested.  In fact, a good few of my colleagues think I’m weird enough already without wanting to pursue it further, which is what I was hoping to do for my PhD.  So I’m thinking that you must have a specific reason for asking me.” 

Gathering together his courage, he looked up to meet Jim’s expectant gaze head on.

“How many of your senses are enhanced, Jim?” and he bit his lip, half expecting a vehement denial or demand that he mind his own business.  Instead, Jim glanced away for a moment before facing him again.

“All of them, Chief.  So, does that make me one of these ‘sentinels’?  How will it affect me, and more importantly, how can I turn them off?”

The look on Blair’s face was one of amazement and delight as he virtually leapt to his feet, enthusiasm oozing from every pore as he paced around, his hands gesticulating wildly as he replied.

“Oh man!  All five senses?  That’s…that’s fantastic, Jim!  Gods, I never believed…always hoped, but never believed that I’d actually find a full sentinel except in pre-industrialised societies!  Do you realise what this means?  You’re a throwback to an earlier cultural--” And that’s as far as he got before an enraged Ellison grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pretty much slammed him up against a large tree trunk.  

As far as Jim was concerned, all he had registered immediately was the ‘throwback’ reference, to which he took great exception.  There he was, confessing his fears and baring his soul to Blair, and this…this punk _kid_ starts talking about ‘throwbacks’!

“What the _Hell_ do you mean, calling me a caveman?  Where do you get off referring to me – people like me - like that?  I didn’t reveal myself to you to get insulted!” and he shook the smaller man angrily, his ferocious glare fixed on Blair’s wide-eyed and shocked face; nose-to-nose now as he lifted the kid from his feet.

“Whoa, Jim!  No need to go all Joe Friday on me, big guy!  Look, I’m sorry about the ‘throwback’ thing.  I didn’t mean it as it probably sounded, man, no way!  You’re special, Jim!  You have a wonderful gift.  Why would you want to turn it off?”  He sounded scared and breathless, but Jim was impressed by his courage under fire, so to speak, and allowed his grip to relax a little.  Sensing a slight yielding in the older man’s aggressive stance, Blair seized the advantage and continued.

“Look, Jim, if you’ll just put me down, I’ll do my best to explain everything I know about your gifts and what they could mean to you.  Please believe me when I say that the last thing I want is to upset you.  I just want to help.  I think I can help, if you’ll give me the chance?”

Taking a moment to really study the smaller man, Jim realised that there was no sign of disingenuousness in Blair’s words or attitude, just a sincere desire to help and understand him.  Nodding abruptly, he lowered Blair to the ground and loosened his grip, hands now supporting rather than confining him.

“OK, kid.  Apology accepted.  And I’m sorry too for going off like that.  It’s just that it’s hard for me to talk about myself under normal circumstances, let alone bizarre ones like I’ve been experiencing lately, and up until now I haven’t received too much sympathy.  If anything, outright scepticism has been par for the course.  So I guess I thought you were just reacting like everyone else, and disillusion and disappointment made me retaliate unreasonably. 

“I should have given you a chance to finish what you were saying before slamming you against a tree, huh?” and he had the decency to offer Blair a slightly sheepish grin.

He was greatly relieved when Blair simply smiled up at him, happiness and confidence plainly restored, as was the blatant hero-worship in the big blue eyes.

“No problem, Jim, honestly.  I know I let my mouth run away with me before I’ve properly engaged my brain.  I just get too excited about some things to be able to hold back.

“Anyhow, shall we sit down again and I’ll tell you what I’ve learned?  Then perhaps we can talk about how my information may apply to you….”

\------------------------------------------

Some time later Jim almost wished he hadn’t asked, because his mind and emotions were reeling; trying to absorb everything Blair had told him and certain now that the ‘sentinel’ phenomenon really did apply to him whether he liked it or not.  On the one hand, it was a relief to find that he wasn’t either going mad or turning into some sort of freak of nature, and that the ‘condition’ was actually due to a natural genetic variation.

However, on the other hand, he didn’t want it, despite Blair’s insistence that it was a real gift – one which would make him an even better detective.  Or a ‘walking organic crime lab’ as his irrepressible companion gleefully described him.  Meeting Blair’s excited gaze, he sighed deeply before responding.

“Look, Blair, I hear what you’re saying, but you’ll have to forgive me for not being overwhelmed with joy at the moment.  Yes, I’m grateful to find out from what you’ve told me that I’m not going nutso after all.  And I truly appreciate how individuals with enhanced senses must have been a godsend to aboriginal and pre-industrialised tribes.  But surely the phenomenon disappeared because so-called civilised society doesn’t need it anymore?  Why would it manifest in me?  And more to the point, how do I control it?  Because I gotta tell you, Chief, that until I arrived in Pine Valley Creek, I was having a really bad time.  So bad that my captain forced me to take some time out to try and fix the problem because I was too erratic to keep working.”

While he was speaking, Blair’s expression had morphed from excitement to disappointment, through sympathy to shy anxiety, and he worried his lower lip for a moment, staring at his hands while he gathered the courage to reply.  Frowning at the change in the young man’s demeanour, Jim leaned forward, forcing Blair to raise his head again to meet his inquisitive gaze.

“Um, well, there was something else I was going to tell you, only I didn’t know how it would sound.  I mean, I don’t want you to take my suggestions the wrong way, because there’s no real empirical evidence, you see.  Just a brief reference in Burton’s monograph, and my own observations…” and he tailed off, knowing he was making no sense, but too nervous to expound upon his rather cryptic statement until he could ascertain Jim’s likely reaction.

Realising what the problem was, Jim tapped him on his knee, saying, “Look, Chief, it’s obvious that whatever you’re thinking is going to affect me.  It might even upset me.  But I swear to you that I won’t hurt you or jump down your throat.  And no more tree-slamming, promise!  I realise that you just want to help, so go ahead.  Tell me what you believe.”  And he squeezed the knee beneath his warm palm, offering Blair a reassuring grin.

Straightening up, Blair stiffened his resolve and swallowed hard as he began, “Well, Jim, it’s like this.  When Sir Richard Burton – the British Victorian explorer, not the actor - was studying sentinels in the nineteenth century, he mentioned that each sentinel had a partner.  Someone to act as backup and help him use his senses to the best effect, and to prevent the sentinel falling into a fugue state, or zone, as he called them.  He didn’t go into detail, and frankly didn’t assign much value to the partner’s role at all, pretty much suggesting that any willing person could do it.

“But I think there’s more to it than that.  I think the partner’s role - a ‘guide’s’ role, if you will – is much more than he implied.  Maybe not exactly equal, but crucial to a successful working sentinel insofar as grounding him and ensuring that his working and living environment was as comfortable as possible.”  Here he blushed and dropped his gaze again before continuing with considerably more trepidation.  “And I think that the connection goes far deeper than the type that exists between simple friends and working partners.  I…I mean, they had to be compatible on many levels, right?  Um, maybe even physically?”  Here he dried up completely, and his expression became one of pleading, his eyes imploring Jim not to get mad with him, or worse, ridicule him for his temerity.

To his intense relief, Jim merely looked thoughtful; his eyes and gaze direct and appraising, but not angry.

“These ‘zones,’ Chief.  If I understand correctly from what you said earlier, they happen when the sentinel concentrates too hard on one sense and gets lost in the input, am I right?  Because that certainly jibes with what I experienced a few times back in Cascade.  And having a partner or ‘guide’ to ground me would help prevent that.  But I admit that even partnered with a colleague from the department; I still managed to lose myself in la-la land more than once, so I’m thinking that you might be right in saying the guide has to be someone compatible, not just a willing volunteer.  And it just so happens that since I met you, I’ve had hardly any trouble at all.  I can even use my senses without too much difficulty now.  And I’m pretty certain that with the proper backup, and practice, that control should improve, am I right?  Become second nature?

“So, Chief.  Do you think you’re my guide?” and he fixed Blair with a quizzical but not unfriendly look.

To say that Blair was shocked to the core at Jim’s words was an understatement.  He had been so sure that the older man would mock him for the absurdity of his ideas that he had been mentally preparing himself to shoulder the inevitable disappointment with as much equanimity as possible – something he had grown adept at doing throughout his young life for so many reasons.  At best he had hoped that Jim wouldn’t be so angry that he threw Blair immediately out on his ear, because he truly wanted to offer as much temporary help and advice as he was allowed to in the hope that it would give Ellison something to work with and build on when he returned to Cascade.

But he had never in his wildest imaginings expected Jim to actually accept everything he said to the extent of claiming Blair as his own.  The thought was both exhilarating and terrifying, and for long moments he teetered on the edge of utter panic and confusion, so unprepared was he for the responsibility and commitment implicit in the notion of partnership with this amazing man.  But oh, how he had always dreamed of such a match.  A vindication of his chosen research topic, and the concept of true and lasting friendship; something he had never had.  He knew in his heart of hearts that the idea was totally implausible, but he was warmed to the depths of his soul by the genuine offer, so he pulled himself together with an effort and looked Jim in the eye, his own eyes brimming with unshed tears.

“Thank you, Jim.  For not laughing me out of the camp, and for accepting me and my crazy notions so open-mindedly.  I…I’ve always dreamed of how I would feel – how I would react – if I was to meet my sentinel Holy Grail.  And it’s been as mind-blowing as anything I could have imagined.

“But I never in my wildest dreams thought that I was guide material, however much the idea appeals to me.  I just thought of myself as a teacher, perhaps.  Someone who could offer suggestions and advice until you could find someone who was suitable to partner you. 

“But if it’s true, and I am a guide – _your_ guide – then Wow!  I…I….” and he stopped abruptly, his voice cracking as he fought to control his burgeoning emotions.  He gazed apologetically up into Jim’s gently smiling face, struggling to rein in his desire to howl like a baby and thus make himself look like an utter dork and loser.

And Jim simply nodded in understanding, waiting patiently for the younger man to regain control of himself.  And wasn’t that a strange concept?  Hard-ass Jim Ellison demonstrating real sensitivity during such an emotional scene?  His colleagues in the PD would be astounded.

“For what it’s worth, Chief, after all we’ve discussed, and from my own observations, I think there’s no doubt that you are one of these guides.  And as to compatibility, I think that’s pretty much a given also.  Because you can’t tell me you haven’t felt the buzz when we touch, eh?” and he grinned wryly at the open-mouthed astonishment on the smaller man’s face.

“Yeah, I know I didn’t react at first.  I was too concerned that it was just another part of the weirdness that’s been troubling me lately.  But I could tell that you wanted to mention it, and at the time I wasn’t ready to open myself to a complete stranger, so I pretended to be oblivious.  And when I had you pinned against that tree, the connection was sparking; like an electrical charge almost.  I don’t think that would have happened if you were only a regular teacher, kiddo, even such a talented one.

“So, I think we’ve answered my original question.  Now I just need to know how you want to deal with it.”

Eyeing the shaken young man with compassion, Jim knew it was too soon to go into further detail about his other observations; like how his senses had picked up on the pheromones that had continued to leak from Blair during their physical altercation, despite his obvious fear.  And he didn’t have to be a sentinel to catch the surreptitious glances Blair occasionally sent him as he checked the older man out.  It was enough for now to know that Blair certainly wasn’t repulsed by him, and he was determined to pursue his claim to the best of his ability.

And what they were going to do about future plans and problems would have to be tackled as and when they arose once the connection was made.

\---------------------------------------------

On the drive back that evening, Blair continued to be uncharacteristically quiet, but Jim knew that his young companion had a lot on his mind, so left him to his ruminations.  They had spent the afternoon hiking up to Eagle Lookout; an activity which allowed them to enjoy a companionable silence whilst mulling over the ramifications of their lunchtime revelations.  Jim could almost hear Blair’s mind working overtime, like a hamster on a wheel, but was content to let the young man work things out for himself without pressuring him unduly; certain that Blair would come up eventually with a workable solution.  One thing of which Jim was totally convinced was that the young man was incapable of knowingly letting Jim down.  Even after such a short acquaintance, he had been impressed with the other’s integrity and selflessness, and it was incumbent on Jim not to abuse those traits.    

As they neared the Baxter Mansion, Jim finally broke the silence, keeping his voice and expression calm and soothing.

“Penny for them, kiddo, or are they worth a lot more than that?”  And he was rewarded by a small but genuine grin as Blair turned his warm gaze on him.

“Sorry, Jim.  I know I haven’t been much in the way of company this afternoon, and I really appreciate you letting me think things through without pushing me.  I admit that I can still see plenty of obstacles in our path, and I’m still frightened at the prospect, but I want you to know that I would like to be your guide more than anything in the world.  If you can be patient with me, I promise I’ll do my best by you, as soon as I can work everything out.  It’s just that so much hinges on Naomi and her mental and physical health.  You do understand that, don’t you?” he added somewhat plaintively, hating himself for his weakness.

In response, Jim reached over and squeezed his knee comfortingly.  “I know, Chief, and I’m prepared to wait for you now I know you’re committed to me.  And I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that, kiddo!  It’s more than I expected, and doubtless more than I deserve.  And I’m well aware that we’re going to have a bit of a rollercoaster ride before we can build an acceptable and workable life together.  But however long it takes, we’ll do it, because for me there’s no alternative.

“Just as long as you’re completely sure?” And this time it was Jim who betrayed a measure of uncertainty.

“Yes, Jim.  I’ve never been more sure of anything,” Blair’s reply was instant and reassuring, and they shared a genuine smile, their eyes telegraphing their growing affection as Jim rolled up to the gates of Baxter Mansion.

“Well, here we are again, Chief.  Still in time for dinner and to visit your Mom.  Give her my regards, and tell her I look forward to meeting her soon.  Do you want to do anything after work tomorrow?” and he couldn’t quite keep the hopeful note from his voice.

“Um, if you’re sure, Jim, yeah.  Even if it’s just going for a beer.  I’d like that,” Blair’s expression turned shy again, as he still couldn’t quite believe that Jim could actually want to pursue a relationship with him, sentinel and guide stuff notwithstanding.  But it seemed to be the case, so he thanked the goddess and clutched the comforting thought to him as he opened the passenger door.

“OK, then, Chief – Blair.  See you tomorrow,” and once again Jim waited until Blair was safely inside before pulling away and returning to his camp, his heart lighter than it had been for many a year.

\-------------------------------------------

**Part 3: And Almost Broken:**

The following evening, Jim’s happy smile of anticipation was wiped from his face as he slowed the truck to a halt outside the general store where Blair stood waiting for him.  Automatically scanning his guide-to-be, Jim realised that Blair’s warm and enticing personal scent was soured by distress, and his head was bowed.  His hair was loose and hanging down around his face like a curtain behind which the young man was trying to hide.  When he heard the truck pull up, he raised his head slowly, as if afraid to face Jim, although he did his best to offer him a welcoming smile.

But that smile was marred by a spectacular black eye and graze along his left cheekbone which his flowing curls failed to disguise, and he looked nervous, as if afraid of Jim’s reaction.  As well he might be, although it was a given as far as Jim was concerned that his fury wouldn’t be directed at Blair himself.

Jumping down from the truck, Jim moved quickly to Blair’s side, noting with a pang the young man’s tiny automatic flinch as he reached out to gently grasp Blair’s bicep with one hand while the other cupped his swollen cheek.

“Dammit, Chief!  Who did this to you?  And don’t give me any guff about walking into a door.  I can see the knuckle marks in the bruising.  Tell me what happened.”

Hardly daring to meet Jim’s angry and concerned gaze, Blair swallowed hard before murmuring, “I’m sorry, Jim.  I guess it was my fault really, but I’d rather talk about it in private?”  His tone and expression implored Jim to understand and not argue, because he really wasn’t up to a public scene right now.  He just wanted comfort, and hoped that Jim would supply it once he had heard the sorry tale, or as much of it as Blair felt it prudent to provide.

Nodding briskly, Jim controlled his rage, knowing that Blair didn’t need it now and more concerned with getting the young man somewhere safe.  If he had been in Cascade that would have meant taking him to the loft, which was the sentinel’s own territory, but right now a quiet back booth in the Timberline Steakhouse would have to serve.   He would have preferred the other alternative of taking Blair back to his camp, but knew that the young man would want to go back to the Mansion anyway to keep an eye on his Mom and Jim didn’t want to argue with him and upset him even more.

Throwing a protective arm around the smaller man’s shoulders, Jim replied tightly, “OK, Chief.  We’ll take this to the Timberline and you can tell me everything over a beer.  I promise I won’t get mad at you, kiddo, but I want to know the truth.  And then I’ll get mad at the person who deserves it!”

Leaning gratefully into the older man’s firm but gentle hold, Blair sighed softly in relief and allowed himself to be guided towards the truck, there to be handed into the passenger seat while his over-protective sentinel scanned the immediate vicinity for potential danger before moving off down the street to the Timberline Steakhouse, face set and eyes alert and steely as he forced down a primal urge to drive straight up to the Mansion, feeling positive that the object of his fury resided there.

Sitting in the truck, Blair felt safe again in Jim’s care, and tense muscles relaxed slightly as they drew away from the store.  However, he knew it wasn’t going to be easy telling Jim the truth behind his injury, and he only hoped that the big detective wouldn’t do anything to get himself into trouble, because they both knew that the law in this town wasn’t to be trusted.

But right then he had no idea as to just how untrustworthy the law actually was.

Closing his eyes briefly, he cast his mind back to the previous evening, running through the events that he would soon have to explain to Jim, albeit in the least inflammatory terms and detail possible.

\--------------------------------------------

**Previous evening:  The Baxter Mansion:**

Once inside, Blair had trotted up the back staircase, eager to see Naomi and tell her everything that had occurred that day, his nervous excitement due to a combination of exultation tinged with apprehension as he contemplated a future with his sentinel.  _His_ sentinel.  Gods!  He could barely get his head around the fantastic prospect, and was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn’t immediately register that once again Art Baxter was standing outside his mom’s bedroom door, plainly awaiting his stepson’s return.  Pulling up abruptly, Blair stared perplexedly up at Baxter’s hard and unsmiling face, momentarily shocked into silence by the unexpected and unwelcome surprise.  Taking advantage of the young man’s hesitation, Art grabbed Blair’s upper arm and spun him around, aiming to march him back down the stairs to his den where he intended to set the little bastard straight in no uncertain terms.   Baxter was bigger and stronger than Blair, but Blair had no intention of making it easy for him once he had gotten over his initial bewilderment, and he struggled hard against the restraining hold, pulling back and trying to dig his heels in as he cried, “What do you think you’re doing?  Let me go!  I want to see Mom!  You’ve got no right to drag me around like this!”

Stopping in his tracks, Art whirled around to face him, gripping both biceps now as he shook Blair hard.

“I have _every_ right, you queer little shit!  As long as you live under my roof, _I_ tell you what you can or cannot do, and I’ll continue to do so until you get it into your head who’s the master here.  I let you stay here out of the goodness of my heart because I know how close you and Naomi have always been, but if you continue to abuse the privilege, out you go, and _my wife_ will have to manage without you.  How do you feel about that?”

Although stunned and hurt by the vicious words, Blair was also angry and indignant, and responded accordingly.  “You wouldn’t!  No way would you hurt Naomi like that just because you don’t like me.  You say you love her, even as she is.  You can’t mean what you’re saying unless you’re a complete monster, and I can’t believe Mom would have fallen for a monster!”

However, even as he said it, he knew in his heart of hearts that his denial was automatic and baseless, and that Naomi had indeed been duped.  And to drive the point home, Art’s face took on a cruel sneer as he shook Blair again.

“Believe it, brat!  She couldn’t get enough of me once she’d stopped yelling at me about those damned trees.  And I fully admit she was great in bed.  Far better than my previous wife, God rest her soul.  I actually thought I was onto a good thing there for a while, even after I found out that her son was a no-good fatherless pretty-boy faggot.

“But now I’m stuck with a cabbage, and her faggot son is flaunting his wares from under my roof.  Well, it’s going to stop, or you’re both going to suffer!”

“No!  Don’t you _dare_ threaten my Mom!”  Incensed now, and truly frightened on Naomi’s behalf, Blair screamed into Baxter’s face, uncaring about his own vulnerability as he sought to retaliate in the only way he could, with words.  “I won’t let you hurt her, even if I have to take her away from here…” and that’s as far as he got before Art hauled off and slammed his fist into Blair’s face, only the grip of his other hand preventing the smaller man from being felled by the vicious blow.

“You little runt!  If you ever speak to me like that again I’ll do more than hit you.  In my father’s day that sort of behaviour deserved a damned good thrashing, and that’s what you’ll get if you don’t learn to toe the line.  Now go to your room, and stay there until I tell you that you can come out.  And if you disobey me, you’ll get that thrashing and I’ll lock you in, and you won’t get to see your mother again until I say so!”

Partially stunned and wincing from the pain radiating out from his eye socket and throbbing cheekbone, Blair swayed where he stood, held upright by the cruel grip on his arm and unable to move until he was sure that the floor had stopped tilting drunkenly under his feet.  Finally able to raise his eyes to meet Art’s cold glare, he stared bleakly at his tormentor for a long moment before wordlessly pulling away, and this time Art let him go, certain that he had made his point.  Turning away, Blair made his unsteady way back down the stairs to his bare and uninviting room, determined not to give Baxter the satisfaction of seeing the tears which threatened to fall, and which finally brimmed over once he had shut the door behind him.  Staggering over to his bed, he threw himself down on it and gave himself leave to cry, sobbing out his fear and misery into the pillow as he prayed for Jim Ellison to come riding to the rescue and take him away from this hell-hole.

But Jim was tucked up in his sleeping bag at the campsite, oblivious to his guide’s despair and dreaming instead of holding that beautiful body in his arms.

\--------------------------------------------------

Coming back to the present as Jim pulled up outside the Timberline Steakhouse, Blair swallowed nervously as the other man turned to face him.  Jim reached out and tucked Blair’s curls behind his ear with a tender touch, his face a frowning mask of concern as he studied the bruised features.

“You know I’m going to go after whoever did this to you, don’t you?  But I promise you not to go off half-cocked however much I’d like to.  I don’t want to make things worse for you by doing something stupid.  But I do want you to tell me everything, baby.  You need to know that you can trust me.  Trust _in_ me, OK?”

Smiling shyly, Blair nodded his acquiescence.  “I do trust you, Jim.  But it’s not just me to consider.  It’s Mom also.  So please don’t do anything that could backfire on her, although I know you’re not going to like what you hear.  I can manage as long as she’s OK.”

“Let’s go in and make ourselves comfortable, then we can talk.  And we’ll take it from there,” and Jim offered him a reassuring grin as he climbed down from the cab and walked around to the passenger door, throwing a comforting arm around Blair’s shoulders once the smaller man jumped down to stand beside him. 

At that early hour, there were hardly any patrons in the Timberline, and those few that were present were propping up the bar, so Jim and Blair seated themselves in a quiet booth at the back of the room.  Settled with a beer each, Blair took a long sip then looked into Jim’s eyes, still nervous but resolved to get this uncomfortable discussion started.

“I think I’d better start with the most annoying topic first,” he began, a wry half-smile pulling at the corner of his generous mouth but the pain in his eyes belying the apparently flippant comment.

“Right now one of the main problems Art has with me is my friendship with you.  It’s only because he thinks that I’m meeting up with you to tell you to back off that he allowed me to see you today.  See, like I said before, for some reason he keeps me under close surveillance, but I don’t really know why.  It’s not that I have any influence around here, and I can’t really hurt him in any way, but he doesn’t trust me not to do something to tarnish the Baxter name.  Trouble is, although I’d love to tell him what he can do with his money and position, I have to stay here for as long as Mom needs me.  I know he’s paying for her care, and I’ve always been grateful for that, but I no longer feel comfortable with his motives, although up until now there’s been nothing I can put my finger on.  But this sort of brought it home to me,” and he grinned ruefully as he pointed to his bruised face. 

Although he could tell that Jim wanted to speak, he held up his hand in a plea for silence as he continued, “Please let me carry on, Jim.  I need to get this out while I can.

“Anyway, after you dropped me off last night, I wanted to see Mom and tell her all my news.  I mean, I guess she wouldn’t understand a word, but we always told each other everything, and I like to think that my talking to her is helping her, see?  I was so excited I didn’t see Art waiting for me at first, but he grabbed me and really laid into me.  He called me a faggot, and told me I had to toe the line and recognise him as the master of his own house or he’d throw me out.  And man, I’m so down with that!  Except that he implied that Naomi would suffer in my absence somehow.  He didn’t say how, but he was cruel, Jim.  I told him I didn’t believe him, and that he loved Naomi too much to hurt her whatever he thought of me, but this time he sneered, Jim.  Called her a ‘cabbage’ and said at least she’d been good in the sack when they first got together.  I got mad and shouted at him, and he belted me.  Told me to go to my room, and threatened to thrash me and lock me in if I disobeyed him.  And he would, Jim.  I could see it in his eyes.  And worst of all he said he’d stop me from seeing Mom.

“So, that’s what happened, but please don’t stir things up by going up to the house, Jim.  Not yet.  I’m afraid of how it could rebound on Naomi.

“But I don’t know what to do,” and he couldn’t prevent the note of despair that crept into his voice as his mournful eyes communicated his distress to his companion.  “I want to keep seeing you for as long as you’re here, and I want to go back to Cascade to be with you, but I can’t risk Mom.  What can I do?”

Jim was deeply moved by the young man’s heart-broken plea, and wanted nothing more but to take him in his arms to comfort and cuddle him, but even their booth was too public a place for that.  Instead he settled for covering Blair’s hand with his own larger one, squeezing gently in encouragement as he fought to contain his own anger and choose words which wouldn’t scare Blair any more than necessary.

Although his first instinct was still to confront Baxter face to face and tear him a new one for daring to touch his guide, Jim knew that he had to control himself for Blair’s sake.  He was a cop, after all, and a good one, and everything about this situation was ringing alarm bells as far as he was concerned.  So he decided to follow up on his intuition regarding Blair’s and Naomi’s dilemma with a view to getting to the bottom of the puzzle.

“First off, Chief, don’t worry about me driving up to the Baxter house to smack Art’s head in – well, not yet anyway.  Much as I’d like to give the old bastard a taste of his own medicine, I realise it won’t help you right now.  But I have serious misgivings about his motives also; have done since you told me the whole story behind Naomi’s accident, and I have to ask you this.  Do you think the version you and everyone else has been fed is the correct one?  I mean, I know that Baxter has used the threat of Naomi being prosecuted somewhere down the line as a means to keep you under his thumb, however improbable that is; but you yourself told me you couldn’t believe she’d been drinking at that hour in the morning.  Don’t you think it’s possible that Marcus was driving, huh?  It seems way more likely, and Baxter’s just using your mom as a handy scapegoat to protect his son.  What do you think?”

As he was speaking, he scanned Blair’s expression and reactions, and knew he’d hit the nail on the head when Blair sighed deeply, his eyes reflecting both pain and a certain amount of relief.

“Oh, man, you don’t know how much I’ve wanted someone else to express that opinion.  I couldn’t believe my ears when Art came out with that claim that Naomi had a drinking problem.  I mean, she’s no saint, and I know she’s experimented with – um, shall we say –mind-altering drugs on occasion when we stayed at certain communes, but nothing too addictive or heavy, and I’ve never seen her drink in the morning, let alone to excess.

“But what about the evidence?  Sheriff Hales was one of the first on the scene, and he told Art it was Naomi driving.  And he said he could smell the alcohol on her breath.  What else was I supposed to believe?”

“Perhaps that he was lying all along, Chief.  That he was saying what Art wanted him to say.  But how we’re going to prove that, I don’t yet know.  I intend to get to the bottom of this, kiddo, for yours and Naomi’s sakes, and also because I hate corrupt officials in any capacity.  It would give me great pleasure to bring Baxter and his tame lawman down.  And to see that obnoxious son of his pay for his mistakes.

“But we’re going to have to watch our backs, Chief.  I don’t want you doing anything suspicious that could get you hurt again, so I want you to leave it to me to do a little local snooping over the next couple of days.  We’ll do as Art wants as far as meeting up socially goes, but he can’t stop me calling in at the store, whether he likes it or not.  And I have to go back to Cascade soon anyhow, because I only brought enough stuff with me for a limited stay.  Not only that, but I need to report in to my captain to check on my job status.  And if I can go back to work, that’s an ideal place to start doing a little more in-depth investigation of my own into the Baxter family and the Sheriff’s Department.

“But don’t worry, Chief,” he added as he saw Blair’s crestfallen expression at his words. “We’ll talk on the phone every day while I’m gone, and one way or the other, I promise we’ll be together soon.  I want you with me at the loft, babe, once we’ve found a solution for Naomi.

“So, drink up, cheer up, and I’ll drop you off at the Mansion.  If Baxter asks, you can tell him you’ve broken it off with me, but if Tyler tells him that I keep dropping by the store, then let him think I’m stalking you.  It would be the truth anyhow,” he added with a grim chuckle.  “But he won’t be able to blame you if I’m acting like a love-sick loon!”

Finally smirking a little, Blair murmured, “Thanks, Jim.  You don’t know how much it means that you’re willing to help me – and wait for me.”  Then, blushing most fetchingly in Jim’s opinion, he pulled a hair tie out of his pocket, and removed one of his leather bracelets.  Offering them shyly to the older man, he said, “Um, I was thinking that you might want something that smells of me.  To ground you, I mean, if you intend to try and use your senses.  But please be careful, Jim.  We haven’t had time to practice much yet, and I so don’t want you to zone or get hurt because of me.”

Smiling widely, Jim took the offered gifts.  “Don’t worry, Chief.  I might not be expert yet, but as long as I have something of yours I think I can use my senses without too much risk.  Anyhow, time to go, and thanks for the presents and your concern and forethought, babe,” and he put the objects safely in his inside pocket.

\----------------------------------------

Shortly after, they pulled up once more at the gates to the Baxter Mansion, and as Blair opened the passenger door, Jim reached over to clasp his hand briefly.  “Remember, Chief, I won’t be far away, but we’ll do as we agreed.  I won’t come into the store for day or so, but I’ll be watching from a distance while I do my local snooping.  You can tell Art that you’ve broken off with me, and that I’ll be leaving soon.  That much’ll be the truth anyhow, so don’t worry.

“Take care of yourself, babe, and see you soon,” and Blair flashed him a beaming smile and look of blatant adoration as he jumped down from the truck.

“You take care too, Jim.   I don’t want my sentinel – my friend – getting hurt because of me,” and he turned away, deliberately assuming a grim and petulant expression for the benefit of any unwelcome watchful eyes.

As he drove away, Jim decided to stop by the Timberline again on his way back to the campsite, thinking there was no time like the present to begin his investigation.  Some of the most interesting information could be gleaned from locals at the bar, if approached with care and offered an appropriate liquid incentive, and it wouldn’t hurt for him to bemoan publicly how he had failed to develop his budding friendship with Art Baxter’s stepson….

\-------------------------------------------

As for Blair, so far his part of the charade had gone over better than he had hoped.  On arrival at the main house, not unexpectedly Art Baxter had waylaid him on his way round to the side door, planting himself firmly in front of the younger man, a forbidding expression on his face.

“So, boy, did you tell your ‘boyfriend’ that you weren’t seeing him anymore?”  He glared down at his stepson, taking in the sulky and hooded expression and thin-lipped grimace marring the normally open and attractive features.  As Blair nodded curtly, he smiled in grim satisfaction, relieved that the brat hadn’t defied him again.  Perhaps this episode would blow over soon enough after the interfering cop had gone home, but Art was under no illusions that he was home free.  That wouldn’t happen until Naomi was either dead or otherwise dealt with, because he sure as hell couldn’t risk putting her in some care home where she might improve enough to blab out the truth about the accident.  He would continue to keep her close, and if necessary pay for her carers’ silence if the worst should happen.  Anything to keep Marcus safe.

So for the time being he would carry on as before, although he intended to keep an even closer eye and tighter rein on Naomi’s little hippy bastard, just in case.

As Baxter turned on his heel and stalked off, Blair blew out a sigh of relief, the tension in his tightly-wound body released with a shudder as he entered the building.  _So far so good_ he thought.  _I think I’ve managed to convince Baxter that I’ve been a good boy and done what he wanted._   But he also had no illusions that that would be the end of the matter, and knew he had to be extra careful around both Art and Marcus from now on.  He was going to miss seeing Jim tomorrow, but he trusted that his new friend would still be there for him, and since Baxter hadn’t forbidden it, he made his way up to Naomi’s room. 

He had so much to tell her.

\---------------------------------------------

Later that evening, Blair paced restlessly around his small room, torn by his turbulent emotions.  On the one hand, he was ecstatic at the outcome of his visit with Naomi, but on the other he was terrified of what the consequences might be if Art was to hear of her improvement.  Because Blair had no doubt that his mom was getting better; their recent ‘almost’ conversation convinced him of that.

When Blair had entered Naomi’s room, as per usual Alison McCready had retired to the small adjoining sitting room to give them some privacy.  Sitting down beside the bed, Blair had taken Naomi’s pale hand in his; once again struck by how frail his mother seemed now.

“Hey, Mom.  I’ve got so much to tell you.  I’m sorry I couldn’t come yesterday, but Art wouldn’t let me.  He wasn’t happy that I disobeyed his orders not to go out for the day with my new friend, Jim.  But I had such a good time, Mom.  Even better than when I had dinner with him.  I think I love him, Naomi.  Even after such a short time.  I know, he’s a cop, and he’s older than me by some years, but you’ll like him, I’m sure. 

“And he’s a sentinel, Mom.  The real deal.  The one I’ve been searching for ever since Joe Blackwater told me about tribal watchmen back when I was ten.  And the kicker is that I think I’m his guide, Mom.  Joe said there was something about me, but didn’t say what.  Perhaps this is what he meant.  Gods, I hope it’s true.  But even if it isn’t, I want to help Jim.  Stay with him.  But more than that, I want you to get better Mom.  I miss you so much.”  He had laid his head down on the bed beside their joined hands, tears leaking from his eyes as his loneliness and despair took hold of him again, only to stiffen in shock as his mother’s free hand began to gently stroke his head, smoothing his curls with a loving and comforting touch.  And even more shocking, but so welcome was the soft sound of her words as she murmured, “My Blair.  My beautiful Blair.  Guide to a Sentinel.  I’m so proud of you…”  But even as Blair sat up to stare at her in wonderment, the light faded from her eyes, and her gaze became unfocussed again as her eyes wandered aimlessly to the small, softly playing TV screen in the corner.  She didn’t speak again, so after a while he had kissed her goodnight and left her in peace.

However, although initially disappointed at the brevity of it, Blair was certain that he had witnessed a real breakthrough in his mother’s condition.  She had obviously absorbed some of the content of his recent news, enough to comment on it, so perhaps it was only a matter of time now until her memory began to return along with her improving comprehension.  But that in itself was both exhilarating and frightening, and as Blair continued to pace, fired up with nervous energy, he struggled to get his tumbling thoughts into some sort of order.  If she was to recall that it was Marcus who had been driving that fateful day, he didn’t want to even consider what Art might do in retaliation.  Thanks to Jim’s moral support and conviction, Blair was certain that the version of the event that he had so much wanted to believe in was in fact true.  But how could he fight against the Baxters, who had so much local power and influence, and apparently even the law safely tucked away in their back pockets?  He was equally certain that he could rely on Jim’s continuing support, but what could his friend do?  He may well be a respected and successful detective in Cascade, but he was out of his jurisdiction here, and it was an unfortunate fact that small-town politics tended to be a law unto itself.  It was a given that Sheriff Hales would automatically veto any suggestion of outside interference.  If Jim’s cop instincts were correct, the man was as corrupt as they come.

Finally running out of steam, he sank down on his bed, still no clearer about how to proceed other than to bring Jim up to speed when he saw him next, and in the meantime, keep his views about Naomi to himself and continue to behave as normally as possible.   No way did he want to upset the status quo again where Art was concerned, for all their sakes.

\-----------------------------------------------

**Same evening, Jim’s campsite:**

While his anxious guide paced his bedroom floor back in Pine Valley Creek, Jim was rolled up in his sleeping bag staring at the canvas roof of his tent.  His mind was just as active as Blair’s however, as he mulled over the interesting information he had managed to pick up in just a couple of hours of judicious socialising in the Timberline Steakhouse bar.

Using his well-honed observational skills and his gut instinct, he had homed in on an older man who had welcomed his casual conversation as much as the free beer his new ‘friend’ lavished upon him.  Within a few minutes, Jim learned that Mike ‘Mickey’ Finn had been born and raised in Pine Valley Creek, and worked as a machinist in the town sawmill.  As he grew progressively more inebriated and more garrulous, Jim discovered that he was as much a mine of information as the inimitable Ida Peabody, but much less inhibited when it came to discussing the Baxters.  Although he had a grudging respect for the town’s principal family, it didn’t prevent him from offering his opinions about the worthlessness of the younger Baxter, who apparently rode rough-shod over all and sundry, certain that his father would smooth any ruffled feathers and buy him out of trouble if necessary.

“Not like that other boy, Baxter’s stepson,” he opined.  “Now that’s a nice kid.  Looks like a girl with all that hair and jewellery, but as helpful and kind as his mommy was before she got hurt.  Poor little gal.  That Marcus ought to be ashamed…” then all of a sudden, the barkeep had butted in, having blatantly listened in to the latter part of their conversation.

“Now that’s enough, don’t you think, Mickey?  The gentleman doesn’t want to hear your fantasies about local incidents, now does he?  It’s old news, and it won’t bring poor Fred back, will it?  I think it’s time you got on home to Annie, don’t you?  You wouldn’t want me to have to call in Sheriff Hales to pick you up for drunk and disorderly, now, would you?”

The unsubtle threat had the desired effect, and Mike pushed away from the bar, but not without a last whispered comment to Jim.  “Damned nosy bugger.  He would too.  But Hales wasn’t the first on the scene whatever he claims.  _I_ know damned well who was in the driving seat of that car.

“But I’m saying no more.  You don’t make waves in this town without repercussions, and I need to keep my job!  Thanks for the beer, mister, and if you’ve any sense, you’ll keep out of the town and stick to the forest for the rest of your stay.  And stop asking questions, or you could get hurt.  Word to the wise…” and he tapped the side of his nose with a forefinger, accompanying the action with an exaggerated wink.  And with that, he picked up his shabby baseball cap and staggered out of the bar, presumably to weave his way home.

Replaying the conversation in his head, Jim grimaced as his face took on an angry frown.  He was certain that Finn had been telling the truth, or at least the truth as he knew it.  Jim had slipped Blair’s bracelet on his wrist beneath his shirt cuff, and the warm scent of his guide and the feel of the soft leather against his skin was enough to ground him and enable him to use his enhanced hearing to listen to the older man’s heartbeat.  There had been no tell-tale increase in rhythm, and Jim’s sensitive nose had picked up no trace of nervous sweat or the sour taint of anxiety; until, that was, the barkeep butted in and shut him down.  Then there had definitely been a flare of unease tinged with indignation in Finn’s eyes, coupled with a burst of acrid perspiration which Jim interpreted as proof that his drinking companion took the barkeep’s threat seriously.

All in all, Finn’s information coupled with Jim’s own observations regarding the behaviour of various other members of the community confirmed in his own mind that there was something rotten in the town of Pine Valley Creek - to misquote the Bard - and the sooner he got to the bottom of the Baxter problem and extracted his guide from this place the better.  But what to do about Naomi?  Even if they could somehow prove that Marcus Baxter was driving that day by persuading Finn to testify, and refute the evidence falsified by Hales, Blair’s Mom was in no condition to take care of herself yet, and would most likely need some kind of support for the rest of her life.  And she might even be in physical danger as long as she stayed under Baxter’s roof.

Jim wished he could talk things through with Blair, but he had to be content with seeing him at the store in a day or so’s time.  He thought about the new cell phones with which some of the MCU personnel had recently been issued, and heartily wished that Blair had one also.  But they were cumbersome and expensive, although Jim could foresee a time when they would be developed into something small and reliable enough for the general public to use.  He was certain that they would eventually catch on, maybe even to the extent that the majority of the population could afford one.  Grinning sardonically, he imagined a world where everyone could to flip open some sort of little gadget like Captain Kirk – ‘Beam me up, Scotty!’ – and with that entertaining thought, he finally fell asleep.

\-----------------------------------

**Part 4: A Hunting We Will Go:**

**Following morning, Tyler’s Store:**

A very subdued Blair arrived for work on Tuesday morning, knowing that he looked even worse than the previous day as his healing bruises were turning into a spectacular multi-coloured display.  He expected and received no more sympathy from Benny than before, but Benny had the grace to let him work in the stockroom all day.  Blair was under no illusions that it was for his own comfort, but rather that Benny didn’t want his regular customers to be disturbed by the sight of Blair’s injuries.  After all, it wasn’t as if his boss wanted it made public that they were inflicted by the boy’s own stepfather.  That wouldn’t go down at all well with Cousin Art.  And no one caring enough to enquire after his health was going to fall for Blair’s claim that he walked into a door.  So Blair gratefully grasped the opportunity of working in the backroom where he could pretty much avoid all contact with Benny; a situation that suited him very well.

Around mid-morning, Blair heard the store’s doorbell ring, and two familiar but unwelcome voices rang out more or less simultaneously. 

“Hey, Benny!  How you doin’, man?” 

“Benny, my man!  Come to look over your ammo stock!”

Blair recognised the strident tones of two of the supervisors from the town’s sawmill; Cal Jones and Marvin Peachley.  He knew they were loyal to the Baxters, often doing extra tasks for them when required, and also they were both part-time deputies, and as such, were very full of their own importance.  Blair tried to avoid them when possible, as they both treated him like dirt when he encountered them in the street, and were barely civil if he had to serve them in the store.  He was relieved therefore that this time he didn’t have to deal with them, and busied himself with the extra cleaning Benny had set him to do.  When Benny responded affably, Blair couldn’t help but listen in to the ensuing conversation.

“Hey, boys.  Good to see you.  What sort of ammo are you looking at?  Your usual 357s?”

“Nah, not this time,” Cal replied.  “We got a special job to do this evening for Mr Baxter and the Sheriff.  Seems there’s a rogue bear up around the high camping ground, and we’re going to deal with it before anybody gets hurt.  We’re going to need a much heavier round than that.”  His tone was both amused and sardonic, and Blair could well imagine the sneering expression that he would be sporting, probably accompanied by a knowing wink.

As Blair pricked up his ears, he heard Benny hiss urgently, “Keep your voice down, Cal!  Sandburg’s working in back, and you don’t want him to hear you!  No knowing what that kid’ll do if he figures what’s really going on!”

“So what if that little hippy shit does hear?  Who’s he going to tell?  No one around here’ll give him the time of day if they know what’s good for them.”  Marvin’s tone was more subdued, but still carried into the stockroom easily enough, and now Blair was seriously worried.  He was certain that the ‘rogue bear’ referred to was either Jim himself, or at the very least, an excuse for the two deputies to be ‘hunting’ in the area of the otherwise deserted campsite.  And it would be so easy to stage a fatal shooting.  Deaths from hunting accidents happened all the time.

He was going to have to warn Jim as soon as possible, but in the meantime he had to try to convince the others that he hadn’t heard anything untoward.  Schooling himself to look as cheerful and unthreatening as he could he poked his head around the stockroom door.

“Um, Benny?  Oh, hi guys!  Sorry, I didn’t realise you were here.  It’s nothing urgent, Benny.  It’ll keep until you’ve finished serving your friends.  See you, guys!” and he withdrew into the stockroom again, heart pounding as he strained to hear the other’s comments, and hoping against hope that they had swallowed his innocent act.

“Think he heard us?” muttered Cal in irritation.

“Nah, don’t think so,” Marvin answered.  “Little faggot’s probably in a world of his own, high on summat druggy like all them hippy college kids.  But we’ll just take them heavy-duty slugs and leave you in peace, Benny.  We’ll let you know how the hunting trip goes,” and Blair heard him snigger nastily as the sounds of money changing hands could be heard.  With a word of farewell, the two left the store and Blair released a sigh of relief.

However, grateful as he was that he appeared to have gotten away with his bluff this time, he knew he had to get to Jim quickly.  Even a sentinel could be caught unawares alone in the woods, especially if his guide wasn’t with him.

In an effort to allay Benny’s suspicions, he contained his impatience with difficulty, waiting until almost lunchtime before making his move.  He then exited the back room, rubbing his hands over his face and moaning softly as if in distress.

Frowning distrustfully, Tyler studied his young assistant.  “What’s up with you, Sandburg?  Got a hangover or something?” he sneered.

“I’m sorry, Benny,” Blair replied, looking as pained and hang-dog as he could.  “I’ve got the headache from hell, man.  Been building all morning.  Must be from this,” and he indicated his bruised face.  “I thought it was getting better, but now it’s really hurting, man.  I need to go to the pharmacy to get something.  I won’t be long.”

Benny snorted disdainfully, but made no move to stop him since it was almost time for his half-hour lunch break anyhow, and the pharmacy was only a few minutes away.  He had no reason to believe that Blair would be outside his allotted time, especially since the kid knew that his pay would be docked if he was late back. 

Little did he know that Blair had no intention of returning to the store that afternoon, and would worry about the consequences later.

\--------------------------------------------------

Once outside the store, Blair turned in the direction of the pharmacy, just in case Benny was watching him, but once he reached the end of the block where the pharmacy was located, he ducked down a side alley and hurried instead to the post office.  He knew and liked Ida Peabody, and also knew she had an elderly bicycle at the back of her shop.  He needed to get back to the Baxter Mansion to pick up his old Corvair, and it was too far out of town to walk in any reasonable space of time, so he prayed that the kindly older woman would let him borrow it for the rest of the day. 

Because he was sure that time was of the essence if he was to get to the campsite and warn Jim about the coming threat.

Several minutes later he was peddling furiously back in the direction of the mansion, his anxiety eating at him as he tried to go faster still.  Ida had been only too happy to lend him her bicycle, but now he was also worried that his Corvair might decide to be temperamental and refuse to start.  He _could_ use the bike to cycle up to the campsite, but it would be hard going on such an old model, and he might well be too late, so he prayed to all the gods and goddesses he could think of to take pity on him and let his beloved classic behave.

Arriving at the mansion, he cycled quickly the long way around the building in an effort not to be spotted, and went straight to the old outhouse where the Corvair was stored.  Propping up the bicycle out of sight inside the open door, he removed the spare key from the magnetic holder in the front wheel arch, and climbed in.  With a whispered prayer, he crossed his fingers and inserted the key in the ignition, turning it gingerly.

And the old car started first time with barely a wheeze of complaint.

Stomping down on his urge to shout out loud in relieved delight, he backed carefully out of the outhouse, stopping just long enough to climb out and shut the doors behind him.  Then he pulled away and used the rear driveway, hoping that no one would be working in the lower yard to see him go. Once out of the mansion grounds, he floored the gas pedal, and drove towards the upper campsite as fast as his old car could manage safely.

\----------------------------------

Even as Blair was hurrying on his way to the campsite, Jim was indulging in a little more fishing; the activity helping to settle his mind and allow him to ruminate on what he had discovered that day.

As promised, he had gone into town that morning intending to do a bit more investigation into just how much clout the Baxters still had over the townspeople and the local businesses.  Apparently, however, word had gotten around about his barroom conversation with ‘Mickey’ Finn, no doubt via the barkeep, and most people he approached gave him a wide berth.  Some looked distinctly uncomfortable, if not actually embarrassed, but the sneering expressions of others made their dislike and distrust of him very obvious.  A very few, such as Ida Peabody, and the waitress in the diner where he went for a coffee were still cheerful and polite enough, but with an underlying tension which suggested they weren’t comfortable with conversing in anything more than polite generalities. 

Deciding he was getting nowhere, he went to the local library instead, there to scan back issues of the local paper under the suspicious eye of the middle-aged dragon of a librarian.   And he discovered something that had his cop’s radar pinging urgently.

It was the coverage of the death of Art Baxter’s first wife some fifteen years previously, and it made very interesting reading.

According to the newspaper’s background reports and elaborate obituary, Anne Baxter, née Calhoun, was the only daughter of Roland Calhoun, Art Baxter’s father’s business partner.  When Roland was killed in an unforeseen accident at the lumber mill, his entire fortune passed to Anne, as her mother had died in childbirth.  And very conveniently, she was encouraged to wed young Art, thus ensuring that the lumber mill and all the other shared business enterprises fell under the Baxter family’s sole control.

Apparently, all was well with the newlyweds until Marcus was born, after which Anne’s mental and physical health began to suffer.  She was seen less and less in town at social functions, and took little or no part in business matters, her condition described as increasingly ‘delicate’ and ‘troubled’.  And then she had apparently decided to end it all by throwing herself out of her bedroom window while her state of mind was disturbed.  It was undoubtedly a sad story, but reading between the lines Jim couldn’t help thinking that there was more to it than that.  Even if Anne did kill herself, he was certain that Art’s treatment of her was a major contributing factor.  And at worst, he might well have decided to be rid of his troublesome millstone of a wife once and for all. 

Jim was well aware of his own tendency towards cynicism, but his experience as a detective in Cascade had introduced him to many such depressing scenarios, and he had the added incentive of worrying about Blair and Naomi’s well-being.

However, he had no proof, just his gut instinct, and no idea how to proceed for the time being, so he returned to the campsite to do a little more fishing in the hope that inspiration would strike.

And that was when he heard a vehicle with a distinctly badly-tuned engine approaching, and he set down his fishing rod, frowning in irritation as he turned to see who was invading his privacy.

Acting on instinct, Jim bypassed his small camping area and strode on down the rough track towards the clearing where he had parked his truck, only to stop dead in his tracks as a small figure hurtled towards him, distress and anguish leaking from every pore.  He opened his arms to catch the flying body as Blair threw his arms around Jim’s waist, cheek pressed to his broad chest and squeezing tightly as he babbled, “Jim, man!  They’re coming for you!  You’ve got to leave – now!  Please, man, please!”

“Whoa, Chief!  Steady on, take a breath and start again, babe.  Who’s coming, and what do you know?”

He carded his hand through the loose curls on the head tucked beneath his chin, trying to calm his guide and still the trembling of the slender body attached to him like a limpet.  After several seconds, Blair made a huge effort to get himself under control and pulled back enough to look imploringly up into Jim’s worried face.

“Oh, Jim!  I was in the stockroom in the store this morning when I heard two guys come in.  I recognised their voices, so I stayed out of the way.  Let’s say, they don’t think much of the little hippy faggot, and leave it at that!  But they’re both Art’s men, and deputies also, and they told Benny they were hunting a ‘rogue bear’ up here this evening on Art’s orders.  And I know they meant you, Jim!  Art wants you gone in the worst way, so I had to come and warn you, man.  Please hurry, Jim!  By now Art’ll know I’ve left the shop, and he’ll guess where I’ve gone.   We have to hurry, before Cal and Marvin get here!”

Jim didn’t bother to argue, knowing that Blair was telling the truth, at least what he believed it to be, and he had learned enough himself to realise that the kid probably wasn’t mistaken.

“OK, Chief.  We’ll play safe and head on out.  It won’t take me long to pack up, especially if you can give me a hand, so we can be out of here shortly.”  At Blair’s relieved nod, he turned to lead the smaller man back up the track, then suddenly turned around to face him again.

“Then again, kiddo, I think I’ve a better idea.  Forewarned is forearmed, as they say, so I’m tempted to wait here and catch them in the act.  I’ve got my personal weapon here, and if I can get one or both to talk, that should be proof enough of Art’s complicity.  And Hales’ also.”

He guessed rightly that Blair wouldn’t like the idea, and he wasn’t surprised when the younger man shook his head in vehement denial.  Clutching Jim’s sleeve in a fierce grip he begged, “Oh, no, Jim!  Please don’t do that – it’s too risky.   I mean, I trust you, I do, but they’ve got some serious fire-power, man.  I know what type of shells they bought at Benny’s, and they weren’t airgun pellets, man!  And they know the area too.  Please don’t put yourself in danger like this!”

Gently but firmly disengaging Blair’s hand, Jim grinned wryly down into the frightened young face, keeping his own tone as reasonable as he could manage.

“I’ll be fine, Chief, whatever weaponry they’ve got.  Covert ops, remember?  And I’ll be careful with the senses too, I promise.  With your bracelet to ground me I can use them safely just enough to give me an added edge, OK?  But I need you to go back to town, babe.  We can’t trust the law here, so I want you to call my boss at Cascade PD.  I’ll give you the details, and he’ll take it from there, and call in whatever backup is appropriate.  We’re going to fix this situation once and for all, Blair, I promise!”

He really shouldn’t have been surprised to see Blair’s expression become mulish as the kid’s stubborn streak kicked in.

“If you’re staying, then I shall too, Jim!  You’ll need more than my bracelet for backup, and I won’t leave you to face Cal and Marvin alone.  I’m staying!”

Stifling the urge to shake the obstinate youngster until his teeth rattled, Jim kept his voice level but unrelenting as he responded.  “No, Blair!  I need you to do as I say and call Simon Banks.  And you need to check on Naomi also, don’t you?  But when you do, be careful, babe.  You already know what Baxter’s capable of, and I don’t want you hurt again either.  Is there a separate phone line to your part of the house I can call you on later without Baxter listening in?”

He could see the effect that his mention of Naomi’s vulnerability had on Blair’s obduracy, and felt a pang of self-disgust for manipulating the youngster’s feelings in much the same way as Baxter was wont to do, but he assuaged his guilt by telling himself it was for Blair’s own protection.  There was no way the young man was up to the sort of action Jim was anticipating, and he was loath to expose any untrained civilian to potential bloodshed, especially a gentle soul like his new friend.

He knew he had won when Blair lowered his head in defeat, his voice low and cracking in distress.

“OK, man.  I get what you’re saying, and I’ll go see Naomi after calling your boss.  There’s still a line through to the servant’s quarters at the mansion, so I’ll give you the number for that, assuming that it’s still connected.  You should be able to reach me without Art knowing.  Unless he already does…” he added grimly.  Then he raised his head again, his expression earnest and impossibly vulnerable as he continued, “Please be careful, Jim.  And call as soon as you can.  I need to know you’re safe, man.”

And all Jim could do was take him in his arms and hold him for long moments, offering non-verbal comfort in the only way he knew how.

\----------------------------------------

Hearing the elderly Corvair drive away, Jim’s expression was one of grim satisfaction as he concentrated on the operation in hand, relieved that Blair was out of immediate danger.  His military mind-set fully engaged, he gathered the articles he needed and set out into the forest, settling in a suitable location not too far from his camp from which he would be able to hear and track potential attackers.  Truth be told, he was more fiercely determined than worried on his own account, having no false modesty when it came to his ability in the field.  Even after a few years as a cop, his covert ops instincts were still up to scratch, as was his physical condition, and he was certain that he would be able to deal with two local yahoos with little trouble.  He was more concerned with how Blair was going to deal with Simon Banks, and couldn’t help but be anxious about a potential confrontation with Baxter once he returned home.  It would be up to Jim to deal with the immediate problem as soon as possible so he could ride to the rescue if needs be.

And by the sound of it, his own confrontation wouldn’t be too long in coming.

\-----------------------------------------

**Shortly afterwards, Pine Valley Creek Main Street:**

Blair bounced with nervous energy as he clutched the payphone handset in his sweaty palm, praying that the cool-sounding woman on the other end of the line would do as he asked, and patch him through to Jim’s boss.  Having placed a collect call through to Cascade Central PD’s Major Crimes Unit, he had half expected to have the phone slammed down on him in irritation, but apparently the words Jim had told him to repeat to demonstrate his veracity were having the required effect so far.  But it seemed to be taking so long, and his frayed nerves were being stretched to their limit as he glanced to left and right repeatedly, afraid that someone on Art’s payroll would see him acting suspiciously and calling from one of the only public phone booths in the town.

He knew he was being paranoid, but hey, _it was only paranoia if they really were out to get ya_ , and he snickered in bitter, self-directed humour at that thought, ashamed of his own timidity.

Just when he thought he had been cut off, a deep voice barked out, nearly causing him to drop the handset in fright.

“Banks here!  Who is this, and how do you know Jim Ellison?”

Swallowing hard, Blair stammered, “Um, my name’s Blair Sandburg, and I met Jim last week.  And he’s in trouble…or could be?”

After that pitifully tentative start, he gathered his courage and, prompted by curt but incisive questions and comments from the other man, he was able to outline the chain of events thus far, culminating in what he believed was going down in the forest as they spoke.

Simon was silent for a long moment, then made his decision.

“OK, kid.  Jim’s going to owe me more than a Jags ticket for this, but I’m going to act as if I think you’re not completely crazy and wasting my time.  Seeing as you say your local law is compromised, I’ll call in the State Bureau of Investigation.  They’re closer to hand and have multiple jurisdictions, so you should be able to trust them.  They’ll probably start by checking out the Sheriff’s Office, then call in on your stepdaddy.  And I’ll be coming up myself as soon as I can get away, OK?

“Go get yourself somewhere safe, kid, and don’t worry too much about Jim.  He’s more than capable of taking care of himself, and will be more concerned with you once he’s dealt with those two ‘deputies’.  Take care of yourself and your mom, and I’ll be there in a few hours.”

Putting down the receiver with a sigh of relief, Blair stood for a moment working at pulling himself together and preparing himself for the next part of his plan, which was to return to the mansion and check on Naomi.  Taking a few deep breaths to centre himself, he strode determinedly back to his car and climbed in, heading back out of town once again.

As he approached the mansion this time, Blair didn’t bother to try and sneak in via the back driveway, because he knew well and good that Art would be ready and waiting for his return.  His primary concern was to deal quickly with whatever confrontation would undoubtedly occur so he could go see Naomi then take himself back to his room, there to wait for Jim’s call.  For his own sanity he had to believe that Jim would be OK, and that Banks would be as good as his word and call in the SBI, but it was the interim period which might well turn out to be the most difficult to weather.  It could well be that he was going to get that thrashing after all.

Pulling up around by the servants’ entrance, he climbed out of the Corvair and straightened his shoulders, glancing in the direction from which he could hear footsteps rapidly approaching.  As expected, Art appeared around the side of the building, face unsurprisingly like thunder.

But what really stopped Blair cold was the large semi-automatic pistol clutched in Art’s hand.  The pistol that was now pointing directly at Blair.

Blair’s first instinct was to bolt, hoping that Art’s marksmanship with a handgun wasn’t up to much, but that small hope died in its infancy as Marcus stepped up behind him.  He had plainly been waiting just inside the servants’ entrance, and grabbed Blair’s arm before the smaller man could move.

“I don’t _think_ so, ‘Bro’!” he sniggered as he tightened his grip painfully.  “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, and Father isn’t too happy with you!”

As Art nodded wordlessly and waved the pistol to indicate that they move to the front of the house, Marcus towed Blair forward as his father fell in behind them, prodding Blair painfully in the small of the back with the pistol’s muzzle.  Once inside, Blair was ushered into the den where he turned to face his captors, certain that whatever Art had in mind for him, it wasn’t going to be good.

Art positioned himself with his back to the door, and exchanged a speaking glance with Marcus, who grinned with unholy glee in response.  Holding Blair’s wide-eyed stare, he pulled the heavy leather belt from his belt loops and slapped it experimentally against the palm of his free hand.

“I told you that I wouldn’t tolerate your disobedience, boy,” Art growled, but with a noticeable hint of sadistic pleasure underneath his angry tone.  “It’s time you had that thrashing I should have given you before.  And then you can tell me exactly what you’ve been up to today.  And if I’m not satisfied with your explanation, you can look forward to even worse, and Naomi also!”

That last threat drew an angry response from Blair despite his own fear.  “Don’t you dare touch Mom!  She’s done nothing to deserve your anger, and if you lay a finger on her, I’ll take you down, I swear it!”

“You’ll be in no condition to ‘take me down’, brat!” Art snarled before turning to address Marcus.  “Get on with it, son,” and a fiercely grinning Marcus stepped forward eagerly, the belt gripped tightly in his hand.

Although Blair tried to duck under the first blow, it still cracked across his shoulders with such force that he stumbled to his knees, and after that, all he could do was curl up tightly with his arms wrapped around his head to try to protect himself by making himself as small a target as possible.  Blow after blow fell until he was sobbing with agony despite his determination not to let them hear him beg for mercy.

Even though it felt like an age, the beating only lasted a couple of minutes, but the damage to his back and shoulders was significant with some of the deeper welts oozing blood through his shirts.  Ignoring his pained cry, Marcus hauled him up and dumped him into an armchair, where he slumped forward, trying to take the pressure off his sore back.

Stepping forward, Art grabbed a handful of Blair’s curls and pulled his head up so he could study his victim’s face.  Satisfied with the tears and twisted mask of agony thereon, he rubbed the barrel of the pistol roughly against Blair’s already bruised cheek.

“Now, boy, let’s talk,” he murmured, and the interrogation began.

\---------------------------------------------

A short while later, Art sat back, a look of grim satisfaction on his face.  Blair was still slumped forward, elbows on his knees and his head hanging as he stared at the floor between his feet, exhausted and so close to passing out through pain and shock.  But despite appearances, he wasn’t completely despairing yet, because it was just possible that he had managed to obfuscate enough to undermine the worst of Art’s suspicions, at least enough to protect Naomi from immediate harm.

Despite his terror on his own behalf, he was far more concerned with Naomi and Jim’s well-being, so he had only confessed to the truth to a certain degree.  He had admitted to leaving the store to warn Jim of the possible attack, but claimed that Jim had dismissed his fears as unfounded.  He also insisted that Simon Banks hadn’t believed him, and had cut him off when he had tried to ask for help.  He had therefore made no mention of possible SBI involvement, so as far as Art was concerned, all was not yet lost.

In Art’s mind, he was satisfied that he had wrung everything out of Blair, not believing that the pitiful little hippy boy could withstand such punishment without telling all.  He still believed that his men could take on Jim Ellison successfully despite their target being pre-warned. Unaware of the detective’s covert ops and sentinel skills, he believed that Cal and Marvin were expert enough hunters to do the job anyway, and with Blair and Naomi out of the way he would be home free.  Marcus would be safe, and no one would be the wiser except for Hales and his deputies, and Art had no fears on that score.  They were too well recompensed to contemplate betrayal.  And they had too much to lose.  Staring grimly at his stepson’s down-bent head, he came to a decision and stood, indicating to Marcus with a peremptory jerk of the head that they move to the other side of the room to discuss his new plans in relative comfort.   He wasn’t too bothered if Blair overheard them since he had no intention of letting the brat remain alive, although he had no immediate plans to finish him off until he was sure he was in the clear as far as Ellison’s demise was concerned.

Sitting down opposite Marcus, he smirked wickedly and began.

“OK, son, this is what I’ve decided.  It’s time to rid ourselves of the Sandburg threat and financial burden, and this is how we’ll do it.  As soon as I get the official call from Hales confirming that our interfering detective has been ‘accidentally caught in the crossfire in a hunting incident’, we’ll put Naomi and her bastard in the Corvair and you can drive them up to the high lake with me following.  It’s probably better that they’re still alive when you do, but when we get there, a couple of sharp blows with a tyre iron will take care of them both.  Then we push the car off the bluff into the lake.  The water’s at its deepest there, so it’s highly unlikely it’ll ever be found.  But just in case it is, it has to look like an accident – or possibly even a suicide pact – as to why the car left the road, so no bullet holes or ligature marks on the bodies, OK?  And our cover story is that for some reason best known to himself, Blair took his Mom and left for destinations unknown.  We’ll pack a couple of suitcases and put them in the trunk for proof if it’s ever needed.  And of course, we’ll both be devastated by their leaving, especially as they left no forwarding address.  And that will no doubt earn us the sympathy of all our friends and neighbours.  What do you think?”

“That it sounds good to me, Father.  I hate that scruffy little nerd anyway, always waving his ‘superior intellect’ in my face.  And Naomi’s no loss as far as I’m concerned.  She’s no use to you now, and if she’s dead, there’s no one else who can point the finger at me for Onslow’s death, which will be a huge weight off my mind.  The sooner the better is all I can say,” and he glared over at the dishevelled figure across the room.

“We’re agreed then,” answered Art, rising to his feet.  “We’ll take him up to Naomi’s room where we can keep an eye on both of them, and as soon as I get that call, we’ll make our move.  Let’s hope Jones and Peachley get a move on and put that ‘rogue bear’ away before the night is over!” 

\--------------------------------------------------

**Meanwhile, up at the campsite:**

Seated in his make-shift hide, Jim flexed his muscles slightly as he eased the small stiffness in his limbs.  Long accustomed to boring stakeouts, he was patience personified as far as remaining undetected was concerned, only his niggling worry for Blair disturbing his otherwise focussed concentration.  He had left his camp looking lived-in and only temporarily vacant rather than abandoned in the hope that his ‘hunters’ would fall for his ruse and assume he was in the vicinity.  And hopefully believe that he was either still oblivious to their plans or overly confident in his own ability to take care of himself.  After all, what would a city cop know about woodcraft?  Watching ‘Daniel Boone’ on TV didn’t count for much.

His patience was rewarded when his sensitive ears picked up a whispered comment, probably spoken into a walkie-talkie.

“Hey, Marv.  Guy’s fishing gear’s here by the lakeside.   He must be close by.  His tracks lead towards the woods above the site.  Keep your eyes peeled!”

A small burst of static preceded the response, confirming his guess.

“’K, Cal.  Am circling round towards you from the north.  See if we can trap him in between.”

“Roger that, Marv,” and silence reigned once more.

Jim smiled to himself, and the look wasn’t pleasant.  Not only was he in cop ‘Protect and Serve’ mode, but also in full-on sentinel mode, and that meant more than protecting his tribe.  His Guide’s welfare was at stake, and there was nothing the primal Sentinel wouldn’t do to protect his mate.

Sure enough, within minutes soft footsteps approached from behind him, and Jim’s grin widened.  This was all too easy, and he could have chuckled if the situation allowed.  Peeking out, he saw a tall, heavy-set man creeping stealthily towards the lake, and Jim moved like a wraith, or like the jaguar that was his spirit animal. 

Peachley never knew what hit him as Jim materialised behind him, the stiff edge of his right hand chopping down across the unprotected throat.  The man collapsed without a sound, and Jim swiftly dragged him into the undergrowth, pausing just long enough to shove a make-shift gag into the lax mouth and cuff him with his own cuffs.  Then he pulled his own weapon from his ankle holster and crept towards the lake, making scarcely a sound as he homed in on his unsuspecting target.

Within moments he was crouched in the bushes not fifteen feet from where Cal Jones was staring bemusedly at Jim’s discarded fishing gear, undoubtedly awaiting his friend’s next communication.  Picking up a small rock, Jim tossed it to one side in the crudest of diversionary tactics, and the sucker fell for it, hook, line and sinker.

“Marv?  Marv, is that you?” and that was all Cal had time to mutter before Jim hit him from behind, catching the already unconscious body as it fell to his blow. After securing this one also, Jim hefted him up in a fireman’s carry and hauled him over to his campsite, where he dumped him down ungraciously on the hard ground.   Returning to where he had hidden Cal’s accomplice, he carried him over also, then gathered and unloaded their weapons.  Blair was right.  They were armed with heavy-duty rifle power, of the type suitable to take down something as big and threatening as a bear.  Jim’s lips thinned as he shouldered the two Marlin 444 rifles, contemplating their intentions as he did so.   These were no ordinary employees lured into crime by the promise of a fast buck.  They knew exactly what they were supposed to do, and he had no sympathy for what he intended for them.  If he had anything to do with it, they would feel the full weight of the law, just as would their employer.

But now he had things to do, and little time in which to do them, so he strode down to where his truck was parked, smiling grimly to find their own jeep parked close by.  Amateurs!  Jim shook his head in disbelief as he stashed the rifles in the truck, but was grateful for their stupidity anyway, as it meant he didn’t have to waste time looking any further.

Shortly after, both prisoners were seated in their own vehicle, cuffed securely to the steering wheel and still unconscious.  Jim used their police radio to contact the Sheriff’s Office, keeping his voice neutral and message as succinct as possible.  ‘Mission accomplished, bear destroyed’.  And his fierce grin widened as Hales responded gleefully, “Good work, boys!  Bring him in, and I’ll let Art know.  Over and out!”

Jim had no intention of wasting precious time by driving the two deputies back to town, so he locked them in the jeep and pocketed the keys, certain that they would be safe enough until either he or some other law enforcement officer came to pick them up.  For now, he needed to get back to Blair as soon as possible, as he had a bad feeling about what may be going down at the mansion.  He had a horrible, sneaking suspicion that they hadn’t seen the worst of Art Baxter yet, and he was seriously worried that Blair might be suffering even now.  Without further delay, he climbed into his truck and set off, driving as fast as the rough forest track allowed until he hit what passed as a main road, where he floored it, driving like a demon towards where his friend and guide awaited him.

\-------------------------------------------

**Sheriff’s Office, Pine Valley Creek:**

Even as Jim was driving back to the Baxter Mansion, Sheriff Hales was relaxing for a moment at his desk.  He had the place to himself, so his feet were up on the desktop, and he leaned back comfortably in his expensive leather chair, a smug grin on his porcine face.  He loved it when a plan came together, and eagerly anticipated his benefactor’s gratitude for his part in it once Art had taken care of the last loose ends and gotten rid of his useless vegetable of a wife and her faggot son.  He had just put through a call to tell Baxter that Cal and Marvin had ‘disposed’ of the snooping cop Ellison, and Baxter had filled him in on what his intentions were towards Naomi and Blair.  If they all stuck to the same story, Hales couldn’t foresee any problems once the routine investigation into the ‘hunting accident’ was done with, and that shouldn’t be more than a formality, the local coroner and judge both being long-time friends of the Baxters.  A sad business to be sure, but not an uncommon occurrence as the deceased cop’s colleagues would undoubtedly be well aware.

Yep, the potential disruption to their closed-knit little community had been dealt with, and law and order as they knew it restored once more.  Life was good.

However, Hales’ smirk changed abruptly to a scowl when the door opened to admit two impressive newcomers.  A man and a woman, both tall, stern and business-like in their formal suits, and both scrutinising him with barely-concealed disdain.  Far too much like FBI agents for his taste.  Or SBI agents, perhaps?  This wasn’t looking good, and Hales began to sweat, his guilty conscience betrayed by his physiological reactions.  Dropping his feet to the floor, he leaned his elbows on his desk, trying for cool anyway. 

“How can I help you?” he asked, his tone obsequious as he forced his unwilling features into a fixed grin.  “We don’t get many visitors here.  Sheriff Hales at your service.  And you are?”

The pair pulled out their ID badges and showed him, confirming his worst fears.  SBI agents indeed, and that could only mean one thing.  The kid had lied to Baxter when he said that Ellison’s boss had hung up on him.  He must have called in outside help after all, and Hales was in deep shit.  If Cal and Marvin turned up now with Ellison’s corpse, he’d deny all knowledge and leave them to take the fall.  It was all he could think of to do because as far as he was concerned, it was every man for himself now.

But there was something else he could do to earn himself some plus points.  He could tell them about his fears concerning Art’s state of mind and his ‘suspicions’ about Baxter’s plans for his family.  Perhaps save the Sandburgs from their fate?  Yes, that would do.

“Look, if you’re here about Naomi Sandburg-Baxter and her kid, there’s something you should know…” and he proceeded to tell them everything he had heard.

\---------------------------------------------------

Shortly afterwards, the agents’ unmarked sedan was also on its way out of town, the grim-faced female agent – Agent Helena Morrison – at the wheel.  Her African American partner, Agent Josiah Walsh, sat in the back alongside Sheriff Hales, keeping a watchful eye on the sweating and anxious lawman, the look of distaste on his elegant features evidence of his disgust and his certainty that the man was guilty as sin.

He and Helena had been returning to their Seattle office from another case when they had received the call to divert to Pine Valley Creek as the nearest available agents.  They had been briefed with the small amount of information available, their irritation at being delayed morphing to grim determination when they heard that it was one of Cascade PD’s MCU detectives who was in danger.  They didn’t know Jim Ellison personally, but both his and his department’s reputations were well known and appreciated in law enforcement circles, and both agents were only too happy to offer their assistance.

And when they had walked in on Lucas Hales, they knew their worst fears were about to be realised.  The corruption in this little town spread far further than the Sheriff’s Department, and they soon found out that it wasn’t just Jim Ellison who was in trouble.  In a pathetic attempt to cover his ass and curry favour, Hales had ‘fessed up to his suspicions that there could be worse going on up at the Baxter Mansion, so after a quick consultation, they decided to head there first.

After all, Hales had also confirmed that he had received a call from his men regarding Ellison’s probable fate, so it was incumbent on them to help the living if they could.  And they weren’t letting Hales out of their sight in the meantime.

\----------------------------------------

**Naomi’s room, the Baxter Mansion:**

Once Art, Marcus and Blair arrived at Naomi’s room, Art had abruptly dismissed a shocked Alison McCready, telling her she could finish early and that Naomi wouldn’t require her assistance for the rest of the evening.  He offered no further explanation and had kept the gun hidden from view, but she wasn’t a stupid woman, and the evidence of her own eyes was enough to set her inner alarm bells ringing.  Young Blair was in obvious distress, and in her professional opinion had been beaten badly enough to need treatment, but it was equally obvious that Art Baxter wasn’t about to allow her to offer it.  So in the cause of self-preservation, she quickly gathered her things together and made herself scarce.

As her carer left the room, Naomi looked over at her visitors from her bed, where she sat propped up comfortably with pillows.  But this time her gaze was clear, if puzzled, and it was obvious by her frown that she was actually registering her son’s injuries both old and new while the depth of sorrow in his eyes cut her to the quick.

“Blair?  Sweetie?  What has happened to you?” Her voice betrayed her distress, but then her expression hardened and she turned accusatory eyes on Art.  “What have you done, you bastard?  And you, Marcus!  I remember now.  The crash!  You were drunk!  I told you that you shouldn’t be driving!  Tell me no one else was hurt?”

The surprise and shock on all three of her listeners’ faces was plain to see, but for different reasons.  For Blair, it was joy and relief, not only because his mom’s memory was clearly returning, but also that it confirmed his belief that she wasn’t responsible for the accident after all.  For Art, however, it was anger that his troublesome wife had recovered despite all odds, but that only made him more determined to get rid of her and her brat as soon as possible.

And Marcus was both furious and afraid.  He had hoped that the blasted woman would have died a cabbage and none the wiser, and now it was even more urgent that he and his father dispose of the problem quickly before anyone else heard her words.  Good job the McCready woman had already left the room otherwise they’d’ve had to buy her silence at the very least.

It was Art who spoke first, though, and his tone was contemptuous and commanding as he gritted out, “Of course someone was hurt, you stupid woman!  Fred Onslow died that morning, but as far as anyone is concerned, it was you who was driving, not Marcus.  And once we’ve disposed of you and your little bastard, that’s all anyone will ever know, because that meddling cop has already been taken care of.”

Turning his attention, and his gun on Blair he growled, “You!  Go sit with your mother where I can see you.  And you, Marcus, grab that small case from the closet.  Stuff a few things in it to make it look like she’s leaving in a hurry.  Quickly now!”

Blair didn’t need any encouragement as he stumbled over to the bed to take his mom into his arms, and have her clasp her weak but eager hands around his neck.  No words were needed as they reconnected, his face pressed against her thin shoulder, and despite their imminent peril, their expressions were blissful if tinged with shared pain.

Sneering at the touching scene, Art almost vibrated with nervous tension as he urged Marcus to hurry.  This was taking too long, and he wanted it to be over and done with.

But the last thing he anticipated was the snarled command from the door suddenly thrown open behind him. 

“Freeze!  Cascade police!  Drop the weapon, now!”

\---------------------------------------------

When Jim had skidded his truck to a halt at the mansion’s front door, he had seen a matronly woman hurrying down the imposing staircase, a troubled look on her face.  Jumping down from the cab to intercept her, he grasped her arm gently but firmly as he addressed her urgently, “Ma’am?  Is Art Baxter inside?  Do you know if he had anyone with him?”

He flashed his Cascade PD detective’s shield with his free hand in an effort to reassure her, hoping she would cooperate and not try to dissemble.  And was rewarded when her conscience demanded that she respond truthfully in an effort to protect her patient and young Blair also.  This was surely the detective Ida Peabody had told her about, and despite her previous unquestioning loyalty to her employer, she had no intention of being involved in anything unscrupulous on his account.

“Yes, Detective Ellison, he is.  He and Marcus just went up to Ms Naomi’s room, and they had her son Blair with them.  He didn’t look well, and has been beaten.  I’m afraid for him, and for his mother, both.  Go and help them, please!”

Jim needed no other encouragement, so he nodded his thanks and raced up the steps and through the front door, his enhanced hearing already telling him that only four other people were in the house, and the heartbeat of the one most beloved to him was racing and erratic.  He quickly tracked them to a third floor room at the back of the house, and with gun at the ready he slowed his pace and moved stealthily towards his goal, listening carefully and thus catching most of the heated exchange carrying on within. 

As he approached the closed door, his lips thinned as he absorbed the details.  Apparently Naomi was much improved, and had confirmed his suspicions regarding the accident.  And it was equally obvious that Art and his son were in the process of setting up a scenario to explain hers and Blair’s disappearance.  And even more importantly, his senses detected the co-mingled scents of blood, fear and misery emanating from his Guide, and the Sentinel within was hard put not to burst in there and then to rip the Baxters limb from limb.

But Jim the cop knew that acting recklessly through being blinded with primal rage could get his friend and/or Naomi killed, so he curbed his impatience with difficulty and paused for a moment to collect himself. 

And then it was time, and gripping his personal backup 38 Special tightly, he tried the door handle with his left hand, carefully easing it open a fraction.  Then raising his booted foot, he kicked hard, slamming the door back on its hinges against the inside wall as he burst into the room.

“Freeze!  Cascade police!  Drop the weapon, now!”

For a second, time seemed to stand still, then several things happened at once.  A shocked but snarling Art swung around to bring his gun to bear on the intruder, only to have it shot out of his grip with sentinel precision.  His howl of agony as he cradled his broken hand to his chest was accompanied by Naomi’s scream of fright, and Jim immediately turned his attention to the others in the room.  While Jim was occupied with Art, Marcus had grabbed Blair, intending to use him as a human shield, only to have his stepbrother retaliate with unexpected strength and determination.  Blair had had enough of being bullied and tormented, and there was no way he would tolerate any threat to his very much alive Sentinel, so he pulled back his elbow and drove it into Marcus’ diaphragm with all the power he could muster.  As his would-be captor folded up, wheezing breathlessly in agony, he swung around and landed a clumsy but effective roundhouse punch to Marcus’ jaw, and the other man dropped without another sound.

Blair turned again to face Jim, who was making a quick job of securing Art with the man’s own belt, and both men locked gazes as they feasted for a moment on the sight of their dearest friend.  To Blair, Jim looked magnificent – a knight in shining armour, or perhaps more appropriately, a tribal Sentinel in all his glory.  A Sentinel to whom he had given his heart.

In Jim’s eyes, Blair looked just as impressive.  Beaten, bruised and trembling with adrenaline-fuelled energy, yet his gaze was one of pure adoration, and the strength of character he so recently displayed despite his injuries was awe-inspiring.  This was his Guide, and Jim was never going to let him go.

Seconds later they were in each other’s arms, and Blair allowed himself to let go at last.  As Jim cuddled him close and rocked him comfortingly in his powerful arms, Blair’s tears began to flow.  Tears of relief, love and released pain and fear, and Jim held him throughout, a few tears of his own dripping onto the curly head tucked beneath his chin.  It was only a gentle enquiry from the bed which made them pull apart, albeit with noticeable reluctance.

“So, Sweetie, is this your Sentinel?” and both men broke out into genuinely happy smiles as they moved together to Naomi’s bedside.  Blair’s voice was warm and loving, if hitching a little with the depths of his emotions as he made the appropriate introductions.

“Naomi, Mom, let me introduce Detective Jim Ellison, Cascade PD Major Crimes Unit.  Our rescuer; and my Sentinel.

“Jim, this is my mother, Naomi Sandburg-Baxter--”

“No, Sweetie,” his mother interrupted, calmly but firmly.  “Just Sandburg.  As far as I am concerned, the Baxters don’t exist for me anymore, except as a bad dream,” and she glared from father to son, her expression bleak.  “And as soon as I can get out from under this roof, the happier I shall be!”

“I hear you, Mom,” responded Blair with a grin.  “I really do!  And that goes for me too!”

Just then, a low moan from the floor indicated Marcus’ return to painful consciousness, so Jim quickly secured him also against the unlikely event that he try something stupid like attempting to escape or attacking one of them again.

And it was into this scene that the two SBI agents emerged, their faces wearing identical expressions of mild puzzlement and sincere relief as they took in the situation.

Sharp eyes quickly scanning the room and its occupants, Helena turned her gaze on Jim.

“Detective Ellison, I presume?  And very much alive, I’m glad to see.  I’m SBI Agent Helena Morrison, and this is my partner Agent Josiah Walsh.”  As her partner nodded in mute affirmation and similar gratification, Jim grinned wryly and replied, “I am indeed, and I suspect that rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated.  But not for want of trying,” he added grimly. “I’m sorry to say that this is one rotten little town as far as the law is concerned, and apparently corruption and intimidation is both habitual and far-reaching,” and he glared at Art Baxter, who glared back wordlessly, his scornful sneer furious and totally unrepentant.

“So we understand, Detective.” Josiah responded this time, his cultured voice cool but tinged with bitterness and disdain.  “We have Sheriff Hales in the car outside, and he’s been regaling us non-stop with information in an attempt to save his own hide.  Enough to lay charges of one sort or another against pretty much the whole of his department and several leading figures in the business and social community also.  Including him.  In fact, especially him!” and he jerked his head towards Baxter.    

“Anyway, we’ll get these two back to town and book them, along with Hales.  A couple of State Troopers should be arriving shortly, and they can go and collect the two deputies.  I’m assuming they are still alive?”

“Yeah, they are.  I left them cuffed to the steering wheel of their jeep up at the high campsite, so they should be safe enough.”

“Fair enough, Detective.  And will you be following us into town?  I think Mr Sandburg might need to be checked out, and we’ll need to take your statements.”

Correctly interpreting Blair’s concerned glance, Jim shook his head.  “Not just yet, Agent Walsh.  Blair will want to know that Naomi is being taken care of first, so if you’re agreeable, we’ll try to get her carer to return for a while.  I dare say she can treat Blair also, then we’ll come on in.  Will that suit?”

“Sounds OK to me, Detective,” Helena interjected brightly, cocking an inquisitive eyebrow at her partner.  At his calm smile and nod of approval, she held out her hand to both Jim and Blair to shake before stepping over to take Naomi’s hand also in a gentle grasp.  “I’m glad to see you safe and sound, Ms Sandburg-Baxter.  And your son also.  Take care, now,” she added warmly, and she released Naomi’s hand with a smile, earning herself a gentle smile in response.

“It’s just Ms Sandburg or Naomi, and thank _you,_ Agent Morrison.  And Agent Walsh.  I’m very pleased to meet you too.”  Naomi’s soft, slightly halting but sincere words obviously touched the tough female agent as much as they affected her partner, and Jim and Blair also.  All four grinned broadly until a snort of disgust from Baxter sobered them abruptly, and Morrison and Walsh turned to haul him and Marcus to their feet, all business and cold efficiency again.

“See you later, guys,” Walsh said over his shoulder as they hustled their charges unceremoniously out of the room.  “And if your captain gets into town first, we’ll send him on up here, OK?” and he closed the door behind him, leaving a relieved but somewhat bemused and shell-shocked trio staring after him.

\------------------------------------------------

**Later that evening, Sheriff’s Office, Pine Valley Creek:**

Jim and Blair sat next to each other in the rather crowded office, with the smaller man leaning heavily against his big partner as he lost the battle against his exhaustion.  Blair had been running on fumes for hours now, and the last of his adrenaline-fuelled energy had finally drained away, leaving him almost asleep on his feet.  As soon as he had stumbled through his statement, Jim had commandeered two of the small office’s most comfortable chairs and settled his partner next to him, only to have the youngster droop almost immediately against his shoulder.  Grinning fondly, he shifted his position to accommodate the limp body, and tucked Blair snugly into his side as he met Josiah Walsh’s amused smirk.

“Kid’s finally given in, huh?” the tall agent chuckled.  “Poor little guy,” he continued, voice and expression now more sombre.  “He’s had a hard time, sure enough.  I’m just glad that both he and his mom are OK.  She seems like a nice lady, despite the injuries.”

“Yeah, she does,” Jim agreed.  “From what Blair’s told me, she was quite the fire-brand before she married Baxter, and he still can’t really understand what drew her to him in the first place.  Can we say ‘chalk and cheese’?  But there must have been some connection, I guess, which only Naomi can explain.

“Anyhow, it seems that she’s made a rapid and unexpected recovery as far as her memory is concerned, and just in time, apparently.  But she’ll need care and support for some time to come.  I would think that her physical health and strength will take a lot longer to return, and will probably require quite a lot of PT.  We managed to contact Alison McCready, her carer, who was only too happy to come back and keep an eye on her for a while longer.  Treated Blair’s back too.  That bastard Marcus really did a number on him!  Used his belt, the sadistic little shit.”

“Yeah, well, he won’t be getting bail if we have anything to do with it, or his Daddy either.  Whatever his fancy lawyer thinks, we’re going to make sure they don’t appear in front of their local buddy, Judge Jessop.  We’ve asked for an independent judge for their arraignment – one who I know can’t stomach corrupt officials or rich folk who abuse their power - so she won’t be swayed by smooth-tongued defence attorneys especially if we play the ‘flight risk’ card.  Same for Hale and his men also.  And I don’t think any of them will have a happy time in lock-up!” and he grinned viciously at the thought.  

“Amen to that, brother,” murmured Jim, glancing down at Blair’s curly head as his Guide snuffled in his sleep.  “Do you need us here any longer, or can I take him back to the Mansion?  I think we could both do with some proper sleep.”

“I think you’re good to go, Detective Ellison.  Helena’s just finishing our verbal report to our boss, and there’s nothing else we can do for tonight.  The rest of the paperwork will keep until tomorrow.  Take him home, Jim, and see you in the morning.”

As Jim nodded his thanks and prepared to rouse his sleepy partner, the door suddenly opened to admit a large and imposing figure.

“Oh, hi, Simon!  We were just finishing up here and heading back to Blair’s to check on his mom and get some rest…”  Jim’s demeanour was superficially calm and collected, although inside he was anything but.  Not that he wasn’t pleased to see his boss, or was ungrateful for the man’s concern, but he really wasn’t up to dealing with Banks’ questioning right now.  It was obvious the man was in hyper-boss mode, and would want to know every last detail regarding his friend and subordinate’s welfare as soon as possible.  And Jim really wasn’t up to discussing sentinel stuff yet, let alone his connection with Blair.

Josiah must have had some intuitive empathy regarding the sentiments behind Jim’s reticence, and he stood up to greet Simon, holding his hand out as he smoothly introduced himself.  “Captain Banks, I presume?  I am SBI Agent Josiah Walsh, and this is my partner, Agent Helena Morrison,” he said, indicating Helena who had just entered from the adjoining room.

“We will be happy to fill you in on the situation so far, sir, while Detective Ellison sees Mr Sandburg back to the Mansion.  Then perhaps you can join them there later?”

Temporarily diverted, Simon missed the grateful glance Jim shot Walsh as he gently shook Blair awake.  Hauling the smaller man to his feet, Jim took advantage of his boss’ perplexity as he nodded his farewell to the office in general.  Edging through the door with his armful of semi-comatose guide, he murmured, “See you back at the Mansion, Captain,” and made his escape.

\--------------------------------------------

**Epilogue: Six weeks later:  #307, 852 Prospect:**

**‘Catch and Release?’:**

Jim threw open the door to his apartment, his beaming smile matched by that gracing the face of his visitor.  Eyes bright with mischief, Blair chuckled, “Heard me coming, didn’t you, Jim?  You didn’t give me a chance to knock!”

“Yep, Chief, heard you from way down the street.  We really have to get that junker of yours tuned properly!” However, the twinkle in his eyes and his warm tone took the sting out of his words, as did the arms he opened wide to receive the enthusiastic hug from his friend and guide, here at last to move in to the loft, and hopefully stay for life if Jim had anything to do with it.

After long moments of simply soaking up mutual need and affection, Jim released Blair and stooped to pick up the heavy duffel the young man had dropped while Blair shouldered the ratty, over-stuffed backpack which was the only other piece of luggage in sight.

“Come on in and make yourself at home, Chief.  I’m assuming the rest of your stuff is in the Corvair?” 

Jim ushered the smaller man into the apartment, closing the door behind them as Blair stopped just inside the door, taking in his surroundings.

“Um, yeah,” he murmured a bit distractedly.  “I didn’t have that much anyway to bring back from the Mansion, because most of my books and artefacts are in store at Rainier.  One of the other TAs was kind enough to find me a bit of space in one of the storage rooms in Hargrove Hall.

“Jim, I haveta say that this is a great place!  Bright and spacious, and I’ll bet you get a fantastic view from that balcony!  Just right for a Sentinel to watch over his tribe, huh?” and his cheeky grin widened as he turned to look up into his friend’s eyes.

“Glad you approve, Chief.  Let me give you the guided tour, then we’ll get something to eat.  I dare say you haven’t had lunch yet?”

“Nah!  I was in too much of a hurry to get here,” and Blair smiled contentedly as Jim wrapped an arm around him, tucking him into the bigger man’s side in a manner already habitual and automatic.  And definitely approved of by both parties.

\-----------------------------------------------------

A short while later with lunch eaten and clear up done, both men sat side by side on the sofa, nursing a beer apiece.  Blair looked relaxed and happy, although Jim could tell he was still a little anxious underneath his apparent aplomb.  However, he was neither surprised nor upset at the faint nervous scent he could discern, since it was only to be expected.  After all, even though they had seen as much of each other as possible during the past six weeks, and spoken on the phone every day they were still learning about each other, and Jim could tell that Blair was still getting used to the idea that Jim genuinely wanted him to come and live at the loft.  It was clear that the young man had never had a proper home, and Jim was determined to put that right.  It was up to him to make sure that Blair knew he was loved and welcome.

“So, kiddo, how has Naomi settled in?” Jim’s interest was genuine as he had grown quite fond of Blair’s mom in the short time since he had met her.  Even if he couldn’t altogether approve of her idea of child-rearing, he was impressed by her courage and determination to overcome her disabilities, and her love for her only child was very obvious.

One of the main reasons why Blair had only just arrived at the loft was that he felt obliged to make sure his mother was taken care of properly in the intervening weeks.  Although both Baxters were denied bail as the SBI agents had predicted, and she should have been safe to remain in the house for a while longer, she was vehement in her declaration that she wanted to get out as soon as possible, and that she wanted nothing more to do with the Baxters or their money.  However, she had been persuaded that it was both practical in view of her on-going medical expenses, and her right as Art Baxter’s soon-to-be ex-wife to accept the substantial out-of-court settlement Art had been convinced to offer in the mistaken belief that she would demand that the mansion be sold so she could have her share.  He didn’t need to know that she wanted nothing of the kind, and was quite content to simply leave the place shut up and moth-balled until father and son had served their respective custodial sentences.

Having found a suitable – and luxurious – care facility just outside Cascade, Naomi had settled in just days ago, and a very relieved and approving Blair had helped her prepare for and accomplish the move.  

Smiling at Jim’s question, Blair replied, “Yeah, man.  She’s fine.  Once she found out that the place she liked best was run by an old friend from her hippy days, she couldn’t wait to get there!  Apparently they offer all kinds of treatments, using both standard therapies and holistic principles, and she can’t wait to get into her yoga and meditation again!  Although no one really knows how long she’ll need to stay there,” he added, his expression sobering a little at the thought.

Pulling Blair to him in a comforting one-armed hug, Jim said firmly, “I think she’ll surprise you, Chief.  I might only just have met her, but your mom strikes me as a very strong-willed lady, and I’m sure she’ll put everything she has into her therapy.  And it’s good that you’ll be close by, so you can offer her as much support as she needs.  She’ll be good to go before you know it!”

Leaning gratefully into the hug, Blair murmured, “Thanks Jim.  It’s good to hear you say that, and I’m so glad you and Naomi get along.  I’d hate for the two most important people in my life to hate each other.”

“Never happen, babe.  And thank you for that also.  I’m happy to be important to you, Blair,” Jim replied sincerely as he dropped a kiss on the crown of Blair’s curly head.  “Now, how about we unpack all your stuff, babe?  We can put most of your books and things in the room under the stairs once we’ve collected the rest from Rainier.  I was thinking that it’ll make a nice private study area for you. 

“Having said that, if you prefer, you can use it as your bedroom too, but I was really hoping that you’d be happy to share the big bed upstairs with me.  I won’t push you into doing anything you’re not ready for, kiddo, I promise, but I think we’ll both sleep better if we’re together.  What do you think?”  Jim held his breath, hoping that he hadn’t scared the younger man off with his suggestion.  He truly didn’t intend to jump Blair’s bones until his Guide was ready, and if it never happened, well, he could live with that also as long as Blair stayed with him.  It was just that they had both found that they benefitted from each other’s proximity, particularly in Jim’s case.  Although he had gone back to work shortly after the Baxters’ arrests, he had needed to keep close various articles that Blair had given him in order to maintain his equilibrium.  They had also managed a couple of visits in order to reconnect, brief though they were.  And he was careful not to try to use his senses in the field yet.  He was certain that it would be foolish to consider it until he at least had his Guide under his roof and in his arms, if not by his side on the job.

Blair didn’t keep him waiting for his answer.  Turning to meet Jim’s ardent gaze, Blair’s eyes were wide and a little startled but reflected just as much passion.  Nervous, to be sure, but also brimming with love and determination as he replied, “I would love to share your bed, Jim.  I don’t know whether I’m ready for more than just cuddling and kissing for now, and you have to know that I…I haven’t had much experience,” and he ducked his head shyly for a moment, a blush of embarrassment creeping up from his neck to his hairline.  But when he raised it again to seek Jim’s reaction, he was reassured to see nothing but love and understanding in his Sentinel’s ice-blue gaze.

“Then I’ll be honoured to teach you, babe,” murmured Jim with a gentle smile.  “Your pace, my Guide,” and they exchanged affectionate grins and an almost chaste kiss before getting to their feet to complete the unpacking.

\-------------------------------------------

Much later on that night Jim lay awake in his – now their – big bed, and smiled fondly at his Guide who was sleeping the sleep of the righteous – and exhausted.  Blair was draped over him like a living blanket, his wild curls tickling Jim’s nose and the heat from his body uncomfortably warm against Jim’s skin, but Jim wouldn’t have changed his position for the world.  Although tired himself, he didn’t feel ready for sleep yet, so was happy to lie awake and contemplate the events of the day.  A day to which the phrase ‘what a difference a day makes’ was very apt.  As was another clichéd saying.  ‘Today is the first day of the rest of your life’.  He grinned sardonically at his own whimsy even as he recognised that it was true.

It had started well with Blair’s phone call to say he was on his way.  Naomi was happy and content in her new environment and was adamant that Blair should return to Cascade and pursue his own dreams again.  And if that meant living with a ‘jack-booted cop’, then so be it.  She had discovered - much to her surprise - that she enjoyed Jim’s company, and thoroughly approved of his attitude towards Blair.  And as for Blair’s attitude towards Jim, well, who was she to deny his blatant adoration?

Nevertheless, Jim was in awe of Blair’s courage in throwing in his lot with a cranky, older cop.  He was certain that the student would be better off seeking a relationship with someone of his own age group.  An academic with whom he would have more in common.  But when he had broached the subject not hours ago, Blair had replied vehemently.

“Jim, how can you describe yourself like that?  Man, you’re amazing!  You look like a Greek god – better, in fact – and you have this wonderful gift.  How could I not love you?  I’m just so grateful that you’ll even give me the time of day!  And as for finding a lover from my own age group, I don’t think so!  I’ve always been too smart for my own good, and pushed up into classes where the other students were at least a couple of years older than me.  And why would they want to be seen with a skinny, nerdy smart-assed kid with glasses too big for his face?  Even now I’m still playing catch-up with the other grad students at Rainier.

“No, Jim.  I love you for who you are, and the fact that you’re my Sentinel makes you perfect as far as I’m concerned.  I just don’t want to let you down.…”

And Jim’s smile softened as he recalled the bashful blush that had accompanied Blair’s declaration.

Yep, he was one lucky guy to have won the love and commitment of his beautiful Guide, although he still couldn’t quell the pang of guilt he felt for binding the young man to him.  Riding with Jim would inevitably lead to Blair being exposed to dangerous situations, even though Jim was dedicated to giving his life to protect his Guide if need be.  But yet again Blair had insisted that it was where he wanted to be – where he was _supposed_ to be – if they were to fulfil their destiny as a fully bonded Sentinel and Guide pair.

But Jim’s expression sobered as he considered what else had happened this afternoon.

Their chance at a working partnership had almost been shut down even before it left the ground, thanks to Simon Banks’ sceptical and antagonistic attitude.

\-----------------------------------------

After they had finished unpacking Blair’s few boxes, Jim had suggested that they make their way down to the MCU to see Simon, since as far as he was concerned, there was no time like the present to face up to his boss.  He could easily discern how anxious Blair had been at the idea, but he was also prouder than he could possibly have imagined when the young man had visibly straightened his shoulders and swallowed down his fears.  If he had ever required more proof of Blair’s commitment to their partnership, here it was in front of his very eyes, especially in the light of their only previous meeting with Simon just after the Baxters’ arrests.

Thinking back to that episode, Jim had known that there would be trouble as soon as he had brought up the subject of sentinels.  Although Simon had expressed genuine sympathy for Blair, and had accepted with resignation that it was in Jim’s nature to involve himself in dangerous situations wherever he might be if innocents were at risk, the concept of sentinels and guides – pre-destined and compatible ones at that – left him cold.

When he had left Pine Valley Creek for Cascade the following morning, Jim had seen very clearly that his captain was in denial about what he considered to be ‘sentinel voodoo shit’, and was ruefully aware that he would have his work cut out to convince Simon that this is what he was now, and also of what was needed in order to utilise his newly recognised gifts for the good of the tribe.

With Blair’s blessing and encouragement over the intervening weeks Jim had continued to demonstrate how much better he was out in the field simply by having access to his Guide’s voice and scent at regular intervals, and he never failed to point out how much more effective he would be once he had his Guide with him on a permanent basis.

And how well _that_ had gone down, at least to begin with.

But once again Blair had come through for them both, and surprised Jim and Simon too with the depth of his knowledge as well as his enthusiasm and conviction.

And also with his scheme for obtaining permission to ride with Jim on a regular basis.

At that afternoon’s interview, Jim had willingly demonstrated the range of his gifts in a few simple tests prearranged between himself and Sandburg, which obviously impressed his captain despite the man’s freely-expressed misgivings.  And then Blair had dropped his verbal bombshell.

“Um, Captain Banks?  I completely understand how you must feel right now, but all I can say is that Jim and I are meant to be together.  I know I haven’t convinced you yet, but please let me say my piece.  As I’m sure Jim has already told you, I was enrolled in the doctoral programme at Rainier before I had to go to Pine Valley Creek for Mom’s sake.  The topic I had chosen for my dissertation involved ‘Modern Urban Sentinels’, although I had little hope of finding a subject.  And now I have, but there’s no way I could write about him.”  And turning to Jim, he had taken the bigger man’s hand as he addressed his next comments directly to him. 

“You see, Jim, it would be completely unethical for me to write about you since you’re my Sentinel, and my partner.  Not to mention that the last thing you need is for the bad guys to figure out that you have an edge, then try to use it against you, because I couldn’t guarantee your anonymity.  So I approached my diss committee and my mentor, Dr Eli Stoddard with an alternative subject.  A ‘Thin Blue Line’ sort of thing about closed societies within the PD, the Fire Department, etc.   And I really think it could work!  I didn’t want to run it by you until I got their approval, but last night Eli rang me and told me it was a ‘go’.

“So, what do you think?” and Jim was struck to the heart by the sheer love and hopeful anticipation Blair had directed at him.

“Think about it, man!  I could get a ride-along pass under the guise of gathering information for my diss!  Please, Jim.  Please say you think it’s OK?”

But before Jim could react one way or another, Simon had growled, “OK, Mr Sandburg.  I see where you’re coming from, and although I still think you’re both crazy, I’ll see what I can do.  I know I’m going to regret this, but you’ve convinced me of your determination to stand by Jim.  Go away now and let me do some tap-dancing with the Chief and the Commissioner, and I’ll get back to you.

“And don’t let me down!”

And resting comfortably in his bed, Jim knew without a doubt that Simon would do his best by them.  It wouldn’t be easy, and their lives from now on would surely resemble that rollercoaster ride, but with his Guide at his side, Jim knew he wouldn’t have it any other way.  His last conscious thoughts before sleep finally claimed him left him smiling.  It concerned the man in his arms in the context of the fishing term ‘catch and release’.  Release Blair?  Nope, never going to happen….

**THE END.**


End file.
